On 11 July 2011 Dad sadly passed away. On 26 July we gathered with many of his friends to say a sad goodbye to a wonderful man whose love of nature, horses and dogs, loud and easy laugh, and absolute passion for horse racing made him who he was. Dad I love you lots and miss you more. xxx
Our tribute to Dad
(read by Faye and Alan at Dad's funeral in beautiful little Pishill Church near Henley)
As a tribute to Dad we wanted to say a few words about him from our perspective, so apologies if we miss out times of his life when we weren't around.
Dad was known and loved by many, touched peoples’ lives wherever he went, and was affectionately given a variety of nicknames over the years. Officially known as 'Charles Colin' he dropped the Charles, kept the Colin, and also became known as:
Col, Colon, Crazy Legs of Goring, Uncle Arsehole, The Squire, 'Sir Colin', Grandad Horses, ‘Father’ when being formal on the phone, and simply....Dad.
Dad made many friends and we’ve had some wonderful memories relayed to us these past couple of weeks. The most common features amongst all the letters, cards and emails we’ve received about Dad have been:-
- horses
- humour
- and a humbling honesty
A friend from Canada summed Dad up as, 'a gentleman, who loved his family first, and then his friends, horses, the golf, and a scotch.”
But I think it's fair to say that with Dad horses always came first. And it is apt that today is the first day of Glorious Goodwood – something Dad's been looking forward to and talking about for weeks!
We of course grew up traipsing to Newbury Racecourse come rain or shine!
Up until our teens we lived in Goring and then Southridge, in that well loved cottage in the middle of nowhere. The earlier of those years were the Richard Wilson days. Uncle Richard, as he was known, was Dad's Guardian, and is the link to how so many of you knew Dad. Our memories of those days are of Richard's swearing parrot, rowing Richard's boat up the Thames, getting stuck on Goring Weir and running riot around Uncle Richard’s house, Grahamsfield. Though most of your memories, unsurprisingly, revolve around racing. Richard Millar wrote saying Dad never seemed to change as you all grew up, he was always easy going, popular with everyone ....that loud laugh, and the horses!
These were the years that Dad struggled to combine his work as an estate agent with his passion for racing. George Bailey described to us how Dad managed to combine the two, when supposedly working in his office, by inventing a pully system to hide his television. The system involved string being rigged up to the front door, and running across the office to the cupboard where Dad kept his large black and white TV. Dad was able to relax and watch the racing knowing that as soon as a client walked into the office the system would pull closed the cupboard door, hide the TV and customers would be none the wiser!
And Dad must have been the only estate agent in the Berkshire / Oxfordshire area not to open on a Saturday! He was always off to the races.
We may have had to put up with endless racing (and all the other sport that was broadcast on television!) but Dad also had a lot to put up with, having to contend with me and my friends. Poor old Dad nearly went insane with all the noise, annual parties while he was away on holiday, broken car wrecks, bikes, and the general madness that we challenged him with. Greg Kerr sent a classic reminder of just how mad we drove poor old Col when he described to us his memories of being chased out of manor farm cottages by a very irate Dad in his baggy y-fronts. Greg said he was mentally scarred for life!
As well as putting up with us, Dad wasn't scared to have his say. As Robin Dawson spoke of Dad, “He always looked upon the bright side of life, however judgemental he sometimes was on standards, situations or people that he felt were out-of-order or did not live up to his code.”
Things he did not agree with were commonly described as “f'ing ridiculous” from the, at times, strongly opinionated Dad. Words often used in the latter day Southridge years which were difficult times for Dad as, other than contending with me and my friends, the house burnt down forcing us to live in a luxurious mobile home in the garden.
But tough times often lead to new opportunities. Sitting in Twinks's kitchen one day led Dad to leave his UK life and head to Canada following Joan Addison's call for help with their horses. I think Dad would say he had headed to the best years of his life.
In Joan's words, “I asked him to look after my elderly Mother and my old dog Scarlet while I went to Ireland for 6 months. Well he stayed 15 years and would have stayed longer if he could. My Mother died, the dog died and Colin was still here. Thank goodness because he made it so wonderful for me.”
In Canada Dad lived on the Addison's beautiful farm with the horses and his beloved brittany spaniels. His life revolved around breeding race horses, almost daily jaunts to Woodbine race track, an immersion into horse syndicates, alongside making some very good friends who became his wonderful extended Canadian family.
When Al and I went to Canada following Dad's stroke we were amazed at how many friends he had, how devastated people were by what had happened to him, and how he was much loved by everyone. And for the past year they have regularly kept in touch with Dad, who they affectionately called 'The Squire', with their news and race horse updates. Just before Dad went into hospital a couple of weeks ago, his friend, Vreni, sent one of her regular letters saying, “we miss you”, and that, “hardly a day passes that we don't speak of you.” This written a year after he left.
His lifestyle in Canada also enabled him to escape the freezing winters and see a bit of the world through pursuing his other obsession, which was boats. So the silver fox (as he was also known) became the intrepid fox as he travelled around the globe. Dad had loved and often talked about his 3 years national service in the Navy. His Navy days gave him a taste for being at sea, and his life in Canada gave him the opportunity to see places he otherwise would never have seen.
A first cruise up the Panama Canal was followed by another a few years later around South America. This was when he surprised the Glovers as he joined the ship in Argentina knowing they were already on board. The 3 of them had a wonderful time, including celebrating Dad's 70th. And Dad enjoyed holidaying with many of you here today: on skiing trips, 'au naturelle' holidays in France, checking out Cuba, heading to the Canaries, Australia and Bermuda.
His sense of fun and colour were a large part of him. As well as his sports regalia of racing trilby, binoculars, ice hockey jerseys and the ever present baseball cap, he also had an unforgettably colourful dress sense. Remembered by his friend Deanna in Canada as, “sporting the most colourful pants this side of the Atlantic”. Many of you have mentioned the infamous red trousers, closely followed by the yellow and pink checked shirt and multi coloured jackets, in your memories of him.
Wherever Dad went on his travels and in his daily life he made new friends, I think his humour and his humble and honest ways appealed to many. Even in his latter days in Wallingford's Westgate Nursing Home he made friends and had a great laugh with the staff, some of whom are here today. His presence in the home I know is hugely missed. After his stroke he rarely complained and as ever he made the best of a very difficult situation.
This past year I have felt lucky enough to have 12 months to really get to know Dad. Ours went from quite a distant relationship, where we rubbed each other up the wrong way, to one of understanding and huge fondness. To the extent that recently Dad told me that despite the damage the stroke had done to him some good had come out of it, in that he had gained a daughter. For me I got to know and love him in the way that you all have for many years, and I even started to understand the horse obsession!
The way people kept in touch with Dad simply reiterated to us what a much loved and popular man he was. And Dad spent a lot of time talking about many of you, ensuring we found your details so he could contact you.
He also talked a lot of the old times: his younger days in Cheltenham, the Richard Wilson era, the fun he had in London, and of course always the racing. He could remember jockeys, trainers, horses and race winners dating back 40 years or so!
We all have different memories we will carry of Dad, and I hope we have reminded you of a few of them today. We know you all share with us the great sense of loss of a wonderful man, and will finish with the words of one of his close friends in Canada:
He is finally free to walk, run and watch horse races from above. Colin was very much a free spirit and when the stroke hit, that freedom was gone. He is finally free again.
Our Tribute to Dad
Kilimanjaro: be killed or conquer?
‘Don’t do it!’, ‘It hurt so much thought I would die!’, or… ‘It was the worst experience of my life!’ …these were the general comments I got from people at the slightest mention of Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. Whether friends, acquaintances, people I have vaguely met or travellers I’ve eaves-dropped upon there seemed to be a resounding groan in discussing Kili. Tales of hardship, hell and the harsh realities of climbing the world’s tallest free standing mountain seemed to dominate the memories of their trips. Pleasurable reminiscent thoughts didn’t seem to feature. So when it came to discussing my Africa trip with people, which included visiting Tanzania, any eyebrows questioningly raised at me regarding climbing Mount Kilimanjaro were met with a response of, ‘I’m not that mad!’.
I had always thought anyone attempting the climb was crazy. My poor excuse for not doing it was that I was simply too old, too set in my ways, too used to the heat, too attached to daily showers, etc. for such an adventure. I don’t think I’ve ever uttered such a resolute and determined ‘no’ in all my travel planning vocabulary as I did with Kili! On the other hand, my travel companion - a young, fit, determined and adventurous Australian was not to be deterred. Rob thought climbing Kili was an essential part of our Africa trip. To him stories of hardship and very possible death simply presented themselves as mere challenges to overcome. I refused to budge on this so we arrived at a compromise which went something like this:
After our Serengeti safari Rob would get up bright and early to battle the elements and conquer the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro like a young adventurous Aussie hero. Whilst I, like a true woos, would suffer this worrying week in the cosy comfort of a hotel in Arusha; maybe take myself off on a few trips to see lions, hippos, elephants and giraffes, and enjoy a solitary week catching up on writing and photography. And with this compromise we were both happy bunnies. Sorted!
But things never go to plan… The comment generously made by my friend Glen of: ‘Get up there and don’t be such a big girl’s blouse’, niggled away at me and became a mountain itself until I’d squashed it and taken up the challenge. Rob too started to put the pressure on when he detected the niggle, realising there was a competitive side to me that could be exploited, twisted, manipulated and persuaded to attempt the insane. So I gave in, tossed my fears away and decided to join the mad mountain climbing crew. Three months later, having bought cheap ski jacket, waterproofs and fleeces in Sri Lanka plus begged and borrowed thermals and gloves, there I was standing at the bottom of Mount Kilimanjaro ready for the impossible.
For those of you that are sane enough not to have even thought about climbing Kili let me tell you a few things, as I’ve had some hilarious conversations with folk who think there are hotels at the top, spas half way down, and luxury camp sites scattered across the scree.
Mount Kilimanjaro
Mount Kilimanjaro sits in a national park with nothing on it except the natural flora and fauna of the mountain, plus a few very rickety constructions that function as toilets or camp huts. What does this mean for the traveller? Sleeping in a tent on rock for a week. No shower for a week (no kidding – no shower, no bath, no washing of hair, just a small shallow bucket to rinse your face). Cooped up in a tiny space with your travelling companion/s for a week. Freezing temperatures for a week. Fresh food running out during the week. High probability of altitude sickness increasing over the week. Absolutely no certainty of reaching the summit (in fact many people I met afterwards hadn’t made the top). So how did I, with my terrible phobia of the cold, my extreme independence, and my dislike of small spaces, cope?!!
To be honest by Day 2 bravado had buckled and I just wanted to be beamed the hell out, I was searching high and low for the elevator back down! This was for several reasons and irrational fears but the two main ones were the cold and the early nights. The latter I realise is a strange fear but since the age that my parents stopped dictating what time I went to bed I’ve turned my lights out at around midnight, any earlier and I never seem able to sleep properly and tend to wake at 2am staying uselessly, frustratingly wide awake. On Kili they send you off to bed ridiculously early, around 8pm, which for me was one of my worst nightmares as it meant having to work out a way to stay entertained and awake in a dark, damp, icy tent for about 3 hours before going to sleep. So by Day 2, the fact that I was colder than I had ever been before and that I was struggling with the early night routine was really getting to me. I found it all terribly depressing. However, I didn’t want the others to know I was at the end of my tether, so I silently sulked and shivered in my sleeping bag imagining impossible ways to escape the climb. I needed that elevator bad!!
What got me through to Day 3 was trust in our team and extreme will power. By now I was starting to warm to our guide, Stanley. Rob and I had sort of disliked Stanley when we first met him the night before the climb. Why? He seemed grumpy, disinterested, humourless, and bossy which wasn’t a good start with two people who like to laugh off their fears and who are strong minded and independent. Looking back we were probably being a tad touchy, and, to turn the tables, Stanley probably looked at us in utter horror! Something like this may have gone through his head upon meeting us for the first time:-
• older woman – seemingly terrified of climb, possibly unfit, could be a whinger, may just about lose her marbles.
• younger man – seemingly unprepared with lack of kit, possibly strong willed therefore won’t listen, could continue to ask hundreds of questions each and every day, may make Stanley lose his marbles.
Either Stanley was having a bad day the day we met him or he really did think we would be a nightmare! Anyway, once the climb began we soon saw the good side to him – a strong and caring leader over a group of 10 staff getting us up the mountain. I think he also started to have a little respect for us after Day 1 when we speedily strutted up to the first camp site and he realised we were perhaps more serious about the climb than he’d taken us to be. Rob also stole the show by speaking Kiswahili, learnt the week before, seemingly like someone who’d lived in Tanzania for 6 months. I kept my fears to myself and, surprisingly, mostly did as I was told! So, to get back to the point of my Day 2 trepidations, as I cowered in the cold wondering how I would endure this worrying wobble of faith, full of frantic fear as to when I may get altitude sickness, when I may get frost bite and whether I would ever see a shower again, I decided to trust in my guide.
Day 2 was one of the hardest cases of mind over matter I’ve ever experienced, all I wanted to do was head home, but what could I do 3,500m high up a mountain? Go back down dejected and defeated?! Not I! So I trusted in Stanley, I trusted in Rob and I trusted in Kili to get me to the top. I enjoyed what I could, and endured what I couldn’t.
The Climb
Many of you may wonder just how do you get to the top? How do you climb 5,895m high? For those of you on different measurements that’s 19,340 feet; 3.6 miles or 29.3 furlongs straight up in the air! There are several routes of varying prices and duration. Rob was happy for me to book us onto the Machame (Whisky) route adding in an extra day to the normal package to help us acclimatise to the altitude - which meant more rest on summit day, or maybe it just meant an extra day for me to come up with an excuse to back out! The benefit of this route is that you sleep in tents rather than having to suffer the farting, belching, snoring, sleep talking and sleep walking (and I dread to imagine what else!) of your fellow climbers in a hut. Each day our porters went ahead of us to set up camp – a large communal tent for eating, playing cards, learning Swahili, asking questions, singing, and for the porters to sleep. There were also 2 small tents – one for Rob and I and one for Stanley and Ismail (the cook).
The climb itself is 6 nights 7 days and aside from my Day 2 drama our climb was really quite pleasant. Days 1 to 5 are spent snaking your way around the mountain from camp site to camp site walking approx 4-5 hours a day. On midnight of Day 5 you do your summit attempt, after which you leg it down the mountain as far and fast as possible to the bottom camp where you can enjoy oxygen once again and feel oh so much closer to creature comforts - things you lovingly embrace on Day 7 when you eventually reach the bottom. To break down the climb here’s how it went:
Day 1 was a bit daunting. We registered at the bottom of the mountain in dense, damp fog absorbing an atmosphere that seemed quite surreal whilst the porters weighed in our gear and got prepared for the week ahead. We were surrounded by gung-ho walkers wearing their trendy of-the-moment gear (which Rob and I didn’t have!) who all seemed so much more prepared than us. Our cook had forgotten his ID, so some bribing had to go ahead in order to get him on the trip which took about 3 hours. Then shortly after we had finally set off I lost my silver bracelet (a permanent fixture on my wrist which never normally falls off) – I was happy to continue but Rob kindly and patiently took a couple of porters and walked back to look for it. This took about half an hour as in the end it meant going right back to the misty, murky start where he found it glinting at him from its fallen place in the thick mud. In a way this felt like an omen – if a tiny bracelet can be found in all that mud it had to be a sign that the impossible was possible and I would make it to the top. And it honestly wasn’t a delaying tactic on my part, but it did set us back even further in terms of racing against the fading light to reach the first camp site. Aside from this staccato start we did make it before dark though due to the continuing thick cloud hugging the rain forest it took us and Stanley about an hour to find our porters and our camp! So we settled down to our first night of extreme cold, sleeping on rock and getting to know our team – 12 guys and me!
It was fun and exciting to wake the next day opening up the tent to clear blue skies, warm sunny rays breaking through the trees and our first glimpse of Kili’s snowy peak in the distance. It felt incredible to finally see the top, though it seemed so very far away! So after our first hearty breakfast we set off and upwards snaking our way towards this distant goal.
Beating the altitude
Walking from Days 2 to 5 involved trekking through endless empty landscape, traversing barren and rocky paths, walking up, down, and across whilst ominously overshadowed by the peak. You are always looking up to wonder just how you are going to make it to the top. Some days we were scrambling up steep rock, pushing, pulling and puffing our way to the next camp site, whilst others meant getting used to the lack of oxygen. For example on Day 3 you go to the height of 4,600 metres, not only do you have to learn to go slow – pole, pole in Swahili – but you also get a small taste of the bitterly cold wind and the thin air you will encounter at the top.
What we had been told from the start is to make sure we had the right attitudes to understand the implications of the altitude, and this third day was an altitude test. Altitude sickness is one of the mountain’s biggest hazards and most climbers get some sort of symptom whether an extreme headache, dizziness, nausea or loss of memory. It’s one of the reasons most people don’t enjoy the Kilimanjaro climb, and the reason it can be dangerous, so it’s really important to trust in your guide to ensure you make it back down. Stanley wouldn’t let us take Diamox (altitude sickness tablets) as he said if we took them he’d have no way of seeing the symptoms if we started to get sick. Although this sent us into blind panic we had to listen to him as we’d heard stories of people ignoring their guides, determined to get to the peak only to come back down in body bags. Yes, that means DEAD. So with the fear of God put up us we behaved, and we were lucky as neither of us got sick except a couple of intensely painful headaches but after that, nothing. Even at the top we were both fighting fit, though drunkenly doolalley from the lack of oxygen!
Inspiration
If the climb ever started to look like it was time for another Day 2 wobble there were always people there to inspire me. In particular:
1) Rob. He was a unique travel companion and had the ‘no fear’ of youth!! At times this was a little worrying – for example on Day 4 he looked across one of the valleys we were passing through and decided to go climbing up a steep wall of rock that looked fairly impossible to scramble up. However, what could I say except ‘good luck’ whilst secretly hoping I wouldn’t have to explain some freak climbing accident to his parents! Even Stanley looked quietly concerned. But aside from Rob’s worrying side distractions which also included teaching the porters how to do martial arts with a large stick (!), it was great to travel with someone that gave encouragement and had determination. He certainly helped me get through the tough times.
2) A Sri Lankan! Yes they do get everywhere! One day we were faced with climbing up a steep section of rock platforms, and as we puffed and panted our way up we passed a Sri Lankan guy with a prosthetic leg who really was putting in all effort and determination to make the climb. He was from the US, a good looking bloke of rugby build, and he reminded me of some of my SL friends. For me this was another incentive to reach the top remembering the folk I’d left behind gunning for me back in Sri Lanka. Plus his bravery was incentive to us all.
3) The Australian Prime Minister’s wife and son (plus their Masai porters). About half way through the week we were joined by a group of Australians who emerged from another mountain route – this huge Aussie party descended upon our campsite at the end of a day’s hike. Their presence couldn’t go unnoticed as the party of 16 had about 80 porters who, like a mountain choir, sang beautiful Masai songs welcoming the group as they entered the camp site. We listened, enchanted, to this magical melody of African voices echoing across Kilimanjaro for an hour or more. A real treat which accompanied us for the rest of the climb. It really was very special, and something we looked forward to hearing each evening. We soon discovered this VIP entertainment was being laid on for the Australian PM’s wife and son, plus their military protectors and a few friends – a really nice group and great fun with all the familiar Aussie humour that helped us with the climb. Though we were a little envious at the end as we watched them greeted with glasses of champagne by their VIP tour company when they reached the bottom.
Champagne certainly wasn’t on our camp menu! However, considering the fact that all our food had to be carried with us our cook Ismail did a great job which is just as well as we were force fed several times a day! I have never eaten so much in my life. Food is supposedly one of the best ways to prevent altitude sickness and store up enough energy for the final climb. Stews, soups and spaghetti, rice, chips and pancakes, and endless porridge, porridge, porridge!! Though we did get a little tired of it, it got us to the peak and as compensation we did have lots of chocolate:) On the afternoon of the summit climb for our last supper we had fried chicken and chips which at the time seemed like a Michelin star contender!
Everything was cooked inside our bright yellow communal tent. Ismail would sit on a large upside down white plastic bucket working over a one-ring gas stove with the porters sitting on bags chopping and chatting. The communal tent was fun and symbolised warmth. When we woke in the mornings that’s where we would dart for our hot chocolate, tea or coffee to huddle together trying to avoid the drip drip of the ice melting from the walls as the rising sun started to thaw us all out.
Determination
The best sunrise was, unsurprisingly, from the top of Mount Kilimanjaro! But to reach the peak was a gruelling test of grit and determination, by far the hardest day of the climb - it was challenging, cold and exhausting, yet exhilarating! At the time I made a mental note to myself absolutely promising NEVER to forget that climbing to the summit was the HARDEST thing I have ever done. I promised not to lie, not to say it was the best thing I’ve ever done, not to pretend it was a breeze, but to be honest and remember that climbing to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro took all my will power, all my patience, every bone in my body to be strong and determined to reach the top.
So how does summit day work, and just how did I make it? You arrive at Barafu camp - the final campsite, 4,600m high, at around 11am. Then sleep, eat lunch, sleep, eat dinner, sleep again until 11pm, then get up for summit time. Here are the steps to getting ready:-
11pm: donning the clothes. I wore 7 layers of clothing on top, 3 on the bottom, 2 pairs of gloves, 2 pairs of socks, 2 hats, 2 scarves, one balaclava, and a jacket tied around my waist to ensure my bum didn’t freeze off (this was to make up for the fact that my Sri Lankan bought ski jacket was a little on the short side!). And the most essential piece of kit - the all important head lamp to light the way.
11.30pm: packing the day bag with camera, extra clothes (!), water (which froze) and camera battery. The latter had to be safely tucked into my bra! Camera batteries freeze in those temperatures so you have to keep them close to you, only when you get to the top can you put the battery in the camera. A complete challenge at 5,895m high, with very little oxygen and hands so cold they don’t function.
11.55pm: heading to the communal tent to drink as much hot chocolate as possible, but making sure not too much as there was no way in this world I was going to swerve off the path to pee in temperatures of -15 degrees!
12.15am: beginning the climb by saying a fond farewell to the porters, strapping on bags and headlamp, taking a huge deep breath of bravery and starting to snake our way through the camp site to the path that would lead us to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro. The porters stayed in the camp whilst we set off with Stanley and one other unlucky soul from the team who got the short straw to trudge up there with us!
The start was spectacular as we followed a rather beautiful scene ahead watching the glow of climbers’ headlamps bobbing their way up the mountain path into the darkness beyond. Stanley estimated that the climb would take us about 6 hours, thereby leaving just after midnight we aimed to reach the peak at 6.15am in time for sunrise. However, due to my aversion to the cold and consequent refusal to stop for too long, refusal to speak to anyone, and gritty determination that the faster we got there the faster we’d get back down again we actually made it to the top early. We arrived at 5.35am – the second team to reach the summit that morning.
If this makes it sound like a breeze - it wasn’t! It felt like trudging heavily for 5 hours up a vertical sand dune, the sort of sticky footwork you only ever encounter in nightmares when you can’t get away from the monsters of your dreams. We had so little oxygen that every step was an effort, and the wind chill was so biting it felt as though I formed icicles on my eye lashes. Added to this my fingers were so cold I couldn’t clutch my walking poles to help me climb. However, once you’ve done the worst of it - snaking up the mountain in the pitch black, exhausted by the vertical scree to the point that you don’t feel you can walk any further, you arrive at Stella Point – the crater rim. Although knackered beyond belief at this stage you know that there’s only half an hour to go from here walking on relatively flat ground, and suddenly it all felt OK.
Lacking oxygen Rob and I wobbled and weaved our way along this final straight like a couple of old drunks, both in our own little worlds of determination. Rob went a bit doolalley, and I silently giggled and cried with absolute elation that I had made it. I’d achieved something I vowed never to do! Woohoo! So we’d reached the peak at 5.35am, a little dizzy and dotty, fingers, feet and noses totally numb, with bodies and faces completely swollen like a bunch of Michelin men, but none the less all in one piece. We hung around for another 30 or 40 minutes - as we’d climbed it too fast we had to wait for the sun to come up! Not usually recommended at altitude, most groups stay at the top for as little time as possible and then leg it!
When we eventually started the trek back down we watched mesmerised with the beauty surrounding us as the sun started to light up the dark mysterious horizon. This was an incredible sight as light revealed itself before the small dot of the sun itself appeared – we were treated to seeing a long narrow luminous strip bordering the horizon like a neon light shining through the blackness. This line of light changed from a cool white glow to a deep orange lining from which the sun gradually rose as it popped its way through the fluffy cloud and started to reveal the most beautiful views. What we had been oblivious to as we ascended is that we’d walked past big glaciers – it the morning light they looked magnificent reflecting pale pinks, blues and distant purples - spectacularly beautiful. The views were incomparable to any I had seen before. Rob was literally stunned and zigzagged his way back down to our base camp as if in a trance. I think we both felt a bit tripped out by the whole experience.
Downwards
It takes 5 / 6 days to reach the top, and only 1.5 days to get back down again and the downhill bit was shattering. My right toe painfully throbbed from trekking down steep slopes and I was utterly, utterly shattered. After peaking we took a couple of hours to get back to our tent, enjoyed a couple of hours kip, then limped down to the lowest camp site on the mountain enduring another painful 4 hours of walking. This last night, when you expect to be full of joy, was actually the worst: we’d reached the peak, ticking off a rather large box for making it to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro, and we just wanted to be out of a tent, in a hotel, eating decent food and having much needed showers and cold, cold beers. Suddenly my incredible tolerance of mountain toilets, so windy that what you dropped down them often came blowing back up again, so dirty that you had to close your eyes and block your nose to what you were standing on, disappeared. As did any tolerance of using wet-wipes to wash with! So, having not minded in the least about all the horrible things for almost a week, another night on the mountain felt quite torturous. But, keeping ourselves to ourselves, we crashed and burned and soon awoke to the final day – the end was in sight as were showers, space and sanity.
Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro ended up being the highlight of the Africa trip for both of us. I’d never do it again but I’m glad I got myself physically and psychologically fit enough to go for it, overcome a few fears, and feel the adrenaline of achieving what to me had previously seemed simply impossible.
Tribute to the porters
As usual I did a huge amount of research before booking our Kili trip. After a lot of emailing, checking out reviews and the all important Trip Advisor tips I decided to go with an excellent company called Basecamp. Whilst doing this research many people sent warnings about greedy porters pretending to be poor and trying to rip you off. Honestly, if they did they really bloody deserved whatever they got out of the people that made these comments as they would have earned every penny they got out of them. So here’s a little tribute to them... Apollo, Karim, Adam, John, Emanuel, Pasco, Iubo, Hasan, and Ibrahim.
The porters that take you and your things up Kilimanjaro are legends. They climb as you do but they climb carrying your heavy bags, your tents, your gas cooker, your cooking gear, your food, your water and your chocolate. All this gear is very heavy, but imagine carrying it on your head at altitude and at speed? Often in knackered old shoes and gear? We had nothing but total respect for these guys.
At the end of our trip we did a lucky dip for our porters giving away some of our stuff. This seemed a good idea as we didn’t want to lug our heavy gear all around Africa, and I’d bought my stuff very cheap in Sri Lanka. So we labelled 9 things with numbers, putting into the pot anything from my ski jacket, to my water proof pants, to a pair of Rob’s old socks! The porters drew a number to get their lucky dip - some were lucky, some were less so but they all seemed happy.
It was a fun end to our trip, and after we’d lightened our load of gear and had one final song with the porters, we left the mountain totally exhausted, totally exhilarated, and excited that Mount Kilimanjaro had been all we’d hoped and more.
Photos on flickr.
Kahanda Kanda – Secret Hideaway
For someone who has no problem with going from one extreme to another none of you will be surprised that I left my ramshackle beach accommodation in Hikkaduwa for one of Sri Lanka’s top boutique hotels. I’d call Kahanda Kanda (KK) five star luxury, a place I’d known about since it opened in 2006 and somewhere I’d been dying to visit after hearing so many great things! I was not to be disappointed. Let me take you on a journey to an amazing find...
I took my usual tuktuk transport to get to KK and thoroughly enjoyed the wonderful scenery inland Sri Lanka has to offer. Confident that the tuktuk GPS system would get me there I was able to relax and take it all in. ‘Tuktuk GPS’ is my name for a system which never fails as there are tuktuks wherever you go: stationed on corners of roads, paths and tracks; parked up outside shops and houses; waiting near temples and schools. The drivers are always willing to help and steer you in the right direction ensuring that you eventually reach your destination - who needs the drone voice of SatNav when the charm of the locals is so much more fun?! Inland Sri Lanka is a place to really experience daily local life as you drive along the complicated network of tiny tarmac roads that take you past ever changing scenery: weaving around paddy fields; passing through cinnamon, coconut and tea plantations; ducking under jungle creepers; and driving past ramshackle village huts and colourful houses. These inland roads open a window to Sri Lankan life though, as life often feels here, they never seem to have any direction - you feel utterly lost as they criss-cross the lush tropical land like the slimy staggered snail tracks found on a giant jungle leaf.
It was a beautiful drive from Hikkaduwa to Kahanda Kanda, starting with the coastal road – jungle and houses to the left, patchy views of the sea to the right with its queues of waves and multiple blues. There were kids playing in the shallows and adults keeping watch, waist deep in water, fully clothed, smiling and soaked in their sarees and suits. We then passed through the old town of Galle with its legendary Dutch ramparts towering over the cricket ground, its colourful fruit and veg market, its overflowing fish stalls, and its navy base, before taking a left turn inland. Here the scenery changed to the multiple vibrant greens of paddy fields, giant leaves of banana trees and tropical ferns, towered by coconut palms. The route was slowed by wandering cows, scatty goats, and Sri Lankan villagers going about their lives as we drove along the rutted twisty roads. Scenery accompanied by familiar smells - earthy cabbage scents of the paddy fields, fumes of frying fish and mouth watering aromas of simmering curries drifting from the houses. At the time of day I went, just after lunch, this lush green picture was dotted with the white uniforms of smiling kids as they walked back home from school – giggling and bravely shouting out ‘hello’, ‘how are you’, ‘what country’?
KK: cool, calm and utterly charming
After driving through peaceful and picturesque inland Sri Lanka we arrived at KK’s big gates. They opened to a winding, uneven grey-stone drive pushing its way uphill through lush green tea bushes. This took me back to my colonial past. Whether a good thing to admit or not – tea is a huge part of my family. My grandfather lived most of his life in Sri Lanka - he arrived in the country to learn the ropes as a young tea planter, a wee lad at the tender age of 18, and worked hard to become top man of Finlays Tea. He had to leave the country in 1962, a sad departure for him, my grandmother and my mother (then aged 15). In 1927 he had made Sri Lanka his home, years later in 2005 I made it mine, and coincidentally we both felt we had to leave due to the government’s aversion to foreigners! Him after 40 years, me after 4. A digression, but also an explanation as to why arriving at KK felt so special as it reminded me of Hapugastenne, the tea estate where my mother grew up, with all the charm and tranquillity that tea plantations seem to bring.
This characterful, cobbly driveway led to the top of the tea hill and stopped at huge steep steps seemingly leading up to the skies, with tall imposing walls either side – one painted bright saffron yellow and one made up of dappled grey stone. (Although it sounds like an intimidating start it felt dramatic rather than unwelcoming.) The staff warmly greeted me, took my bags and I followed. At the top of the steps the giant saffron wall continued to my right whilst to my left the wall stopped and opened up to gardens, rooms, statues and ponds. After passing these, the stone slab path ended at a beautifully set swimming pool of subtle design, not overpowering the rest of the hotel but still decently sized and very tempting! Beside the pool, green lawns sloped down to pristinely pruned tea bushes and long views over Koggala Lake below. Simply breathtaking. I took in this setting as I sat in the hazy afternoon heat sipping my welcome drink in the living area - a wonderful open space lined with long white sofa cushions, for essential lounging, and filled with antique furniture, ornaments, candles, vases, plants, and book cases. In case you needed entertaining the tables had a fantastic selection of coffee table books including some with incredible photography of Sri Lanka’s exquisite villas, beautiful landscapes and wonderful wildlife. The room was decorated with Sri Lanka’s signature black and white Paradise Road cushions, mixed with lovely deep red to add some colour. Clearly KK was going to be different to anywhere I had previously been – this was to be all about the rooms, the décor, and the setting.
Rooms with a view
I had the opportunity to check out most of the rooms, known as ‘suites’ – five in total, separate rooms built like little villas over the property and all with their unique flavour. The Peacock Suite (the master room) was the most impressive. A huge open space with polished concrete floor, black and white décor, a king sized bed in the middle of the room, and sparsely but exquisitely decorated right down to the detail of unusual ornaments on the book shelves. It also had its own private garden with a fun water feature, lounge chairs and an amazing view. Across the path was the Mango Suite decorated with purples, pinks and reds, the balcony filled with views from left to right of neatly plucked green tea bushes packed tightly and covering the hill from top to bottom.
My room was the Garden Suite – different again. This was not the same contemporary feel but more stepping into colonial past, not minimalist but cluttered with old pictures and portraits making up a cosy room - I was looked down upon by race horses, historical figures, architect drawings and tapestries. The four poster bed in my room was elegantly draped with the ubiquitous mosquito net acting like a curtain enclosing the bed. Lifting this mesh I discovered a small bouquet of fresh red and white flowers placed on the pristine white duvet cover, letting off the wonderful sweet vanilla scent of frangipanis. For the record this has to be one of the most comfy beds I’ve ever slept in! Four large pillows, packed, squidgy and soft, were perfect for lying against to read and luxury for sleeping on. Aside from the bed the other highlight of my room was the shower, about the only thing that would manage to tempt me out of this cosy comfort at six the next morning. I love the outdoor showers you find in hotels in Sri Lanka – the one at KK was such a treat, particularly after the cold Hikkaduwa showers! It’s a wonderful feeling of indulgence as you stand outside, enclosed in your own little garden, under a torrent of alluringly hot water.
Dawn chorus
Most of you would think I’m a little crazy to get up early when staying somewhere so comfortable but honestly early morning is the best time in Sri Lanka. It’s a time for listening to the sounds of the birds, the bark of the monkeys, the chants and bells from the temples, the distant whirr of tuktuks and bikes as people get on the move. It’s also a great time for taking photos before the light is too bright. The morning at KK was no exception. As I yawned and stretched and opened my doors to the outside balcony I heard all the familiar bird noises including babblers, bulbuls and barbets plus the distant meowing of a peacock! I hadn’t realised there were peacocks on the tea estate, so I walked through to the tea bushes at the back and watched the magnificent noisy bird meowing as it perched in a shade tree above the tea. It was a male peacock calling to its mate in the valley below and I was offered the treat of watching him display to the female as he spread his feathers, yellows, blues, purples and greens catching the early morning sun. A spectacular sight balanced on a branch half way up a tree! As I walked back I saw a smaller but no less beautiful bird, the Asian Paradise Flycatcher with its elegant long white tail floating through the air as it darted between the trees.
I returned to my balcony, sipped my ‘bed tea’ (tea brought to you early in the morning when you’re supposed to still be in bed!) and listened to the birds and the wind rustling in the trees feeling very relaxed, loving the tranquillity! Curled up on my outdoor sofa I looked down to the white balcony floor and watched a family of red ants tidying up the remains of a dead beetle. I am always fascinated by ants and their military operations. When I lived in the jungle anything that died was soon taken away by the big jungle ants, whether a huge beetle, a small gecko, or food I’d dropped, the ants found it.
Speaking of food, the food was as good as everything else that came with KK - the menu small and simple, the food delicious (especially the breakfast), but the ambience and the attention to detail were what made it so special. The dining room, another big open room overlooking the views to the lake, was simply done with two large square tables in the middle and four small outer tables making the best of the views. I sat at one of the outer tables, camera at the ready for another vibrant Sri Lankan sunset where I captured a perfect pink sky behind silhouettes of spidery palms. Whilst I was enjoying this painting of nature, the staff were working hard behind me to get the big table ready for dinner decorating it with tiny delicate white flowers, a meticulous labour of love which I later admired before tucking into my delicious meal.
Night lights
At night the hotel was creatively lit up, the lighting used to capture the best of the architecture and design – for example, the dining room reflects spectacularly in the swimming pool. The pool itself looked magical, dimly lit revealing blue water covered in the dots of heavy rain drops as they ricocheted across the surface. The statue in the pond added to the drama of the scene lit up from below; in fact many unusual features were highlighted by low lighting such as the concrete urn and rain chains outside my Garden Suite. The living area too was nicely lit with small lamps and candles, a wonderful place to relax for a G&T aperitif or an after-dinner amaretto prepared for you at the cosy wooden bar.
A little about the hotel for those that may want to escape and chill...
The Design: After thoroughly enjoying the wonderful decor of the hotel, and simply being able to relax from one peaceful spot to the next, it was no surprise to discover that the owner of the hotel was an interior designer. George Cooper bought the property in 2000, then a small planter’s bungalow, on a slightly crazy whim to move from the comfort of the UK to the craziness of Sri Lanka. But it paid off! Fortunately for the rest of us George decided to share this beautiful setting with others by building the five suites and turning Kahanda Kanda into a boutique hotel. He employed a local architect to build the property, and employs local staff to run it. The tea estate is a working one and the workers are from the local village. The hotel also helps local projects, and has planted so many trees that it is now carbon neutral (check their website below for more details).
Activities: If you are not the type to enjoy sitting around reading and relaxing there is plenty to do – bike rides, whale watching, cookery courses, tea tours, massages, visits to temples, and much more. Most trips are aimed at people that really want to learn about Sri Lanka’s culture which is something I applaud. The hotel also offers Yoga retreats, wellness weekends, and is planning to run artist weeks and cheese making courses. It would also be a good half-way stop on route to a leopard safari in Yala National Park.
For me KK was a wonderfully excluded spot. A place to get away from it all, have some time to myself and relax amidst the familiar smells and sounds of Sri Lanka’s jungle whilst enjoying the hotel’s ambience and never tiring of its unbeatable views.
Photos: check out my Flickr set to see more.
Further info can be found on the hotel’s website.
What to do in Hikkadu...
‘What to do, madam?’ The infamous Sri Lankan phrase spoken by locals when they can’t (or won’t) help in a variety of situations: the shower isn’t working: ‘what to do’?; your dog’s barking kept me up all night: ‘it’s a problem - what to do?’; my transport hasn’t arrived: ‘driver is on Sri Lankan time, madam – what to do?’. You get my drift. It’s actually a great saying which I love to use myself, an understood and kindred phrase used by all Sri Lankans! 'What to do in Hikkadu' became a phrase used for nothing other than simple lazy rhyme as we travelled on our frequent trips to Hikkaduwa from our hectic city lives a couple of hours away. I lived near this wonderfully long stretch of beach for two years, and when I moved to the big smoke it became my retreat from city life.
Returning to Sri Lanka this time around wouldn’t have been complete without the obligatory Hikka trip. And the only real way to experience it was to get the bus from my old flat in Colombo’s Wellawatta suburb to travel the 100km south to Hikkaduwa. I went with friends on a Saturday, usually a good day for a bus journey – not so busy, less traffic, etc. However, there were very few buses which we soon found out was due to a national bus strike, only a handful were actually running. What to do?!
Bussing it
There are two types of bus to get in Sri Lanka: either a) an AC bus (privately run air conditioned mini buses, bloody freezing but easier to get a seat and usually faster); or b) a noisy smelly monster bus (big buses run by both private companies and the government - the only difference I can see between them is that the government buses are red). We got one of the big monsters – a white bus leaning at an extreme angle towards the left dangerously dragging over the wheels, it was as though there was a bulky elephant weighing down one side of the vehicle. I think this is some kind of long term damage from the amount of people on the buses each day, gradually the buses gain a slanting angle like a permanent limp. This bus disability is a leftwards lean where the front and back doors get jammed with passengers every day in rush hour - people clinging on with one hand and one foot (two if lucky) as they travel peacefully to work! It’s an experience where personal space can’t even be considered as you are squished by bags, busts, and butts, crotches and armpits, and are surrounded, of course, by smiling faces!
Hot, though strangely not bothered, I somehow managed to score a seat much to the chagrin of a nearby Muslim man with his family – two wives and a son. Wives and son were lovely, friendly and smartly dressed, while husband was scruffy and bossy trying to tell everyone his wives were sick so that they would give up their seats to his family. There’s no way I could give up my seat, even if I had wanted to, with my heavy bag weighed down by camera, lenses, laptop and a few clothes for the week balanced on my knees, and nowhere else it could possibly go. So for the entire journey I seemed to have camera bag and Muslim family in my lap. Though I think I fared better than my friends – Jan, who is a big framed German guy, spent most of the journey standing on one leg hanging onto the ceiling rail swinging his way south; David, of smaller frame, was standing completely squashed in the middle of the bus finding it hard to breathe; while Lisa was sandwiched at the back with her bright red t-shirt trying to avoid the SL boys taking advantage of the packed bus situation!
I still managed, with one eye towards the window looking through the transparent sleeve of one of the Muslim ladies, to enjoy my favourite scenery as we travelled south. Colour all along the roadside. I never tire of watching Sri Lankans get on with their daily lives selling all things from coconuts to plastic buckets, to roti to fish. Flashes of greens, yellows, oranges, reds, blues, purples – as we passed sarees, sarongs, shop fronts, houses, palm trees, bicycles, motorbikes, brightly coloured trucks and tuk tuks, rivers and the sea. This all accompanied by the familiar smells of spices, curries, fish and fumes - Sri Lanka! Scenes and scents dramatised by the loud and tinny sound track on the bus which blasted Hindi music through crackled speakers all the way to our destination.
Hanging out in Hikka
It is a wonderful feeling to arrive in Hikkaduwa, ignoring the horrendously noisy smelly Galle Road that leads to and through the middle of town, as to me it is a symbol of peace and tranquillity - a home from home. We hopped off the bus and took a 3-wheeler to our accommodation on the beach, and when we squeezed through the shops and guest houses that line Galle Road it was time for the big ‘sigh’ as we had finally arrived.
Hikkaduwa beach is about a mile long (that’s my calculation not an accurate description!), curving its way along the Indian Ocean with its warm shallow bays of dark reef, deep dappled blues and booming white surf. It’s a sea that demands respect for its strong currents as demonstrated by the way it pushes and pulls at the sand forming an ever changing beach which banks, flattens and curves its way along the coast. Across the sand this characterful beach is sheltered by the elongated shadows of coconut palms. These classically tropical trees hang over the beach as though they are giant daddy longlegs with orange coconuts tightly tucked into their branches like spider eggs. The trees are scattered in between Hikkaduwa’s higgledy piggledy guest houses with ramshackle tables, chairs and beach beds filling out onto the sand. This is an uncrowded paradise dotted with happy looking tourists enjoying much of the beach to themselves as numbers have still not recovered since the horrors of the tsunami, the fear of the war and the impact of the world’s economic crisis.
One of my favourite Hikka pastimes is a morning stroll along this stretch of soft orange sand – striding through the shallows from the guest house to the village of Dodanduwa at the far end of the beach. Early morning is a wonderful time in Hikkaduwa – a time when the party goers have gone to bed, the beach boys have not yet arisen and real community life surrounds you. I love to walk and feel the morning sun as it sneaks out over the palm trees to the east before the day becomes stiflingly hot. It’s a time to encounter genuine Sri Lankan lives watching the fishing boats return from their night out at sea and the fishermen pull in their nets. This is no easy task – heavy boats and heavy nets have to be dragged up the beach by tiny, agile Sri Lankan men with weather beaten skin enveloping wiry muscles working hard to pull in their catch. A task that needs help, which soon arrives as villagers emerge through the trees to add to the line of men pulling the ropes that drag the fish filled nets onto the beach. From the distance this looks like a giant tug-of-war game with up to 10 men, bare chested wearing hitched-up sarongs, pulling at a huge rope that leads into the sea - the hidden fish their underwater opponents. Once the pulling and heaving is done the locals are rewarded for their work by heading home with the catch of the day, and the fishermen set to selling their fish or transporting them up to restaurants in Colombo.
For me this is a blissfully wandering hour or so, soaking up local life before turning back to the guest house for my morning cup of tea. A time when I never cease to be amazed at just how lucky I’ve been to have this on my back door step for so many years.
Beach life
Back at the ranch the others were slowly emerging - time to get ready for a busy beach day! This was a new kind of Hikka for me – in the past the beach was a weekend retreat where I disappeared, often alone, to hang out by the sea, read, walk, swim and catch up with the locals from the nearby village I worked in. But having left my life in Sri Lanka to only return for a few precious weeks it became a different experience for me. This time I guess I went more as a tourist as I travelled with a group of expats - friends from Germany, Switzerland, UK, France. I even stayed in a different guest house, a first for this creature of habit! It was nice to share my past haunts with old and new friends and it also felt like I was passing them on to the next group who had come to make Sri Lanka their home. The new accommodation (Vernon’s) was much cheaper than my habitual Drifters, not so nice but perfectly adequate – a single bed with mosquito net, fan and ensuite shower – can’t ask for more at £4 a night.
Being back on the beach also meant being back amongst the familiar creatures - I looked out of my door and watched a crab sizing me up with its big eyes, leaning backwards, folding its claws in front of it as if deciding whether to scuttle past or attack. I left the curious crustacean to its indecisions and ducked inside for a quick freshen up. It’s always tough to return to cold showers, I lived this way for two years and still find it excruciating to get under one but always refreshing after the first few seconds. In fact I’ve realised that when you shower in Sri Lanka the cold water becomes warm as it reaches your feet and hits the floor. (But when I returned to the freezing cold UK to my horror I noticed the opposite – hot water became cold after passing down my shivering body leaving barely tepidly water to reach my feet and hit the floor. Not pleasant!)
Apart from the familiar things, Vernon’s had a different view to where I usually stay – rather than the middle of the beach it is situated on the corner where the main surf rolls in and is placed on a high bank of sand with the waves lapping below. Tables and chairs were placed under the ubiquitous Sri Lankan corrugated iron roof which was held up by vertical wooden pillars - these functioned rather like windows to the surf as they broke up the panoramic view. A fantastic place to have a cuppa whilst watching the surfers bobbing up and down in the distance to vie for their morning wave.
Surf is Hikkaduwa’s main attraction for most visitors so Lisa decided to plunge into areas new as she took her inaugural surf lesson with Neil from Wales – yes we even hooked up with tourists, another new experience! Three lovely lads from Wales – Neil, James and Fish who were thoroughly enjoying their surf trip to Sri Lanka and seemed quite happy to learn a little about the history of the island as well. It was so refreshing to have people interested in what’s going on but bringing an optimism that is so much needed. Sri Lanka needs more visitors who are willing to understand what the people have gone through, and not be scared to explore and see the island for the wonderful place it is. Though with the wonder also came the more challenging side to Sri Lankan life... Lisa’s surf lesson ended in a stormy tale.
Beach deterrents
Those of you that know me are aware of my irrational (?) fear of storms as I cower like a frightened animal when the big tropical mothers come though. To be fair this is partly due to my house being struck by lightning and burning down when I was a wee lass, but that’s another story. So when the heavy rains fall in Sri Lanka I know that it is time for me to find a place to hide as it’s almost inevitable that a massive storm will follow the floods falling from the sky. This time there were five of us sitting on a couple of beach beds when the rains rapidly descended. These beds are more like mini huts – mattresses placed on waist high platforms sitting on stilts buried into the sand, topped with flimsy roofs made of woven palms that tend to leak when overly challenged with monsoonal weather! As the heavy waters dropped at terrific speed I was caught between my fear of the coming storm and the importance of protecting my camera gear - to dash for cover would have meant total drenching and ruination of my equipment. The others laughed at me trembling on the mattress, cuddling my bag and wishing the storm away. However, the mockery soon stopped as there was an almighty crash accompanied by a huge flash and terrified screams from all!
I was facing the sea huddled up with my jaw slowly dropping as I watched lightning fork the shallows right in front of us, James was facing the land and saw the lighting flashing on the other side of us – so it basically forked either side of our little hut like a hat of electricity being placed over our heads. We realised our lucky escape when we saw the faces of people about 20 feet away staring dumbfounded after witnessing whatever we had narrowly escaped. In addition to being terrified by the deafening bang and the blinding flash, Lisa and Fish got zapped! Both had their feet on the beach and both were wearing metal (rings on fingers and toes) and both felt an electric shock as the lightning struck. Nothing serious but enough to make us all dash for cover, giggle nervously, tremble a lot and order comforting cups of tea and bottles of beer. When the storm rumbled off southwards we remained in the safety of the café watching people slowly emerge back on to the beach and the boats slide off the sand back into the water. The most amazing sight for us was watching a fishing boat circle the exact spot where the lighting had struck – our theory was that they were looking for dead fish and again we realised just how lucky we had been!
However, we weren’t so lucky in escaping the vermin of the beach – the dirty old massage men who hunch over the beds smelling strongly of weed and grinning cruel toothless grins. They tried to sell us pineapples for ten times the normal price and attempted to offer us overpriced massages. When we asked them to go away in Sinhala they would hobble off leaving an echo of Faganesque laughter as if we were the freaks. This may sound a little mean but they are old men who are sadly drugged up to their eyeballs, were probably good looking beach boys 30 years ago but somewhere along the way they became mean, hardened, grizzled and ready to cheat any foreigner out of a buck or ten. Sadly they also seemed to be teaching their youngsters a trick or two - I was accosted twice by a trainee beach boy who must have been no older than 14!
Beach boys and the old men are a pest – they walk in parallel to you along the beach from 10 metres away and gradually angle themselves a path that ‘accidentally’ collides with yours. Then they offer you something like a very expensive lagoon boat ride (if you’re lucky) or weed, brown sugar or even a young boy or girl to keep you company. This trainee beach boy was pushed towards me by some of the twisted older men and as he approached I told him to leave me alone, I wasn’t interested. He was not deterred. He kept asking my name, my country, whether I was married (common Sri Lankan questions) so in Sinhala I politely told him where to go. Then he nervously called me ‘sexy?’, putting the one word to me as though it was a question, as he clearly didn’t know how to cope with this difficult foreigner and knew no more words. Who knows what he was trying to achieve but I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or give him a whack around the ear and tell him to bugger off home to his parents!
There are people who visit here, or temporarily volunteer here, that would say I’m being cruel about these beach vermin, after all it’s their country they are only trying to make some dosh. However, I don’t condone old men who cheat you, men who push drugs (probably bad quality and highly over priced), or men who sell boys and girls. They bring shame to their country. The local community could start up a tourist friendly service vetting those that patrol the beach so sellers that are genuine and actually take the money back to their families are the ones that benefit from the tourist dollar. Sadly I don’t see this problem as being top priority with the tourism promoters in Sri Lanka who boost the big hotels and festivals but tend to ignore the local communities leaving the beaches to the guest houses. But someone needs to take responsibility - maybe they’ll read this and finally decide to do something about the problems of the beach boys and their impact on communities and on tourists. (Rant over!)
Reminisced and relaxed
Aside from nearly being struck by lightning and getting a little animated by the hassle on the beach it was yet another lovely trip to Hikkaduwa. This is no five star destination (there are plenty of those across Sri Lanka) and is often dissed by guide books as an unhealthy concrete jungle attracting drop outs and soft drug users (in places they have a point!) but to me it is still a great area to visit. You can get as involved as you like in the tourist shenanigans or keep to yourself; it’s up to you how much you have to see of the party scene, the hippy hangouts, or the surf dudes.
Our trip reminded us of what a diverse and fun island Sri Lanka is, not to mention beautiful and unpredictable. Our days were filled with beach breakfasts, tasty teas and sunset snacks, whilst scrutinising the surf and soaking up the local life. We feasted on spicy curries, quick fix rotis or dinner at the best pizza joint in the country – Fabio and Paula’s Spaghetti House. Our nights were topped with drink, chat and chill at Saman’s Top Secret bar where we nattered and joked over arrack and coke until 4 or 5 in the morning. These long relaxing days ended with us wandering back along the beach to Vernons guided by the moonlight, feet dipping in and out of the warm sea getting ready for another eventful sun and surf day on Sri Lanka’s beautiful coast.
A few photos.
Return from Africa
(1st anecdote)
Well my 2.5 months in Africa is over:-( It was a fantastic journey and I'm going through thoughts of what's been great, what hasn't and what I'd still like to do (LOADS!). The highlight of the trip was getting to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro with the added bonus of having no altitude sickness, it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience particularly seeing the world from 5,895m high! I've been really very lucky by what I've seen and experienced and there are only 3 slight downers that I can come up with:-
1. I lost my diary (but recovered it and had it sent home)
2. I ran over a sheep (which didn't recover!)
3. I thought I'd freeze to death trekking up Kili (and it took 3 hot showers to recover!!)
Aside from these small things the trip was fairly uneventful in terms of anything bad, it was one incredible view or experience after another and has left me with many wonderful memories of both places and people I've met along the way... in particular my flexible, fun and patient travelling companion, Rob. For two people who thought they could only successfully travel alone in the past we did really well in changing that view and shared some great times.
I also have to mention a few others who really helped in making it a memorable trip:
Shane and Asanthi in Dubai who picked up the pieces as I got off the flight after leaving my friends and life in Sri Lanka.
Paul and Squeaks in Kenya who were wonderful hosts and generously lent us their car so we could have a week exploring the national parks and getting our first glimpse of real Africa
Brandon and Tanya for giving me such a great time in Cape Town, showing me around your beautiful city, taking me to some fantastic places (still salivating over the food!) and for making me giggle a lot!
When I lost my diary I lost my notes on Kenya and Tanzania so the first thing I wrote was in South Africa – it's not up to the usual standard but to quieten all of you asking for something here's a little anecdote from the Wild Coast:
Africa: the Wild Coast Safari
There's a puffed up, chatty chicken sitting next to me, pruning herself before she sleeps perched atop of the chair. There's a big black soppy dog pawing at my back to get my attention, and there's me temporarily distracted by whales breaching in the distant sea (sigh!) enjoying every moment of South Africa. I'm in a guest house on a hill overlooking the sea relaxing and recovering from a four day horse safari with Ambadiba Adventures... and it certainly was an adventure. Travelling for me is about meeting the locals, enjoying new cultural experiences, stumbling across spectacular scenery and dealing with the unexpected along the way - all of which were catered for on our Wild Coast trip in the Transkei.
Our safari started with the kind of hanging around I am used to – the promised ten minute wait for our horses stretched to two hours but it didn't worry me as Africa time is much like Sri Lanka time, i.e. never on time!, and who cares when hanging around on a beach in the sun? The first real surprise of the adventure came from the initial sighting of the somewhat mangy mutts that were to be our transport for the next four days. A slightly unfair description of horses perhaps? Maybe, but I am used to riding gorgeous well kept Irish horses which was not the case with the Pondo Ponies - so small and scrawny that I felt my legs would touch the ground half the time! But it was all part of the experience, and they certainly weren't petted bored stable ponies. They were local horses that hadn't been ridden for some time and weren't really up for a few days of beautiful coast - they just wanted to be home, running around in the wild rather than entertaining foreigners.
So the reluctant horses with their slightly disappointed riders headed off, though the riders at least got over the mismatch as we travelled through the distraction of incredible scenery. Afterall, the whole idea of the safari was to see the Wild Coast of South Africa and to meet the local community which is what we got and something we will never forget. The riding itself was fairly uneventful except when my horse nearly broke her leg by getting stuck in the rocks and being particularly stupid about placing her feet, even with me on foot guiding the way, and when Rob's horse threw him off every time we waded waist deep through a river! We had three nights and four days riding along beaches, over sand dunes, up and down hills, through rivers, and learning a little about the people along the way.
The local community in this part of the Wild Coast are Pondo, indigenous to the area we travelled through. They live in the classic African round huts which have peaked thatch roofs shaped like asian hats, with outer walls painted white, pale blue, or turquoise. You see small clusters of them dotted across the green folding hills, often accompanied by squares of tree enclosures sheltering vegetable gardens and livestock - the ubiquitous goats, cows, chickens and dogs. Inside, the huts are slightly dark and damp with a musty smell of animal manure as the walls and floors are made of mud, straw and dung. Strangely cosy and comforting once you get used to it.
The Pondos live in one of the most beautiful places I have ever encountered (as most of you know I have travelled somewhat extensively so that's quite a statement coming from me). It's a place that around every corner, over every hill, and beyond every bay the view literally takes your breath away. A cliché but there's no other way to describe the beauty of this place. Frothy blue surf meets dark black rock bordering pale white sand. A sight of endless unspoilt, untouched beach with miles of spectacular scenery spreading inland - sand dunes of pale white and deep orange with green hills folding into the distance patched and parted by rivers, gorges, and swimming holes. On top of that you have the place to yourself - even on a public holiday there was no one in sight. It's a wonderful feeling to stand on the beach listening to the sea with the wind and sun on your face knowing that you've stumbled upon somewhere so special - though for how much longer it will exist this way no-one is sure.
Pondering the Pondo Problem
Sadly, like many really special places in the world this one also has a problem hanging over it – TITANIUM. Those stupendously beautiful sand dunes are tragically also full of titanium and there's an Australian mining company just itching to get their hands on it.
The Pondo community is incredibly welcoming, lives to it's traditional ways and means, is safe, friendly and unique BUT is small so it is hard for them to get their voice heard. They are trying to revamp community based tourism that started a few years ago, and a large majority of them hope that tourism can beat mining. If they get the right marketing and the right people helping them they may just manage it – the place is eco-tourism's dream and would tick many boxes for South Africa: saving one of the most beautiful remote spots in the world; supporting a small and possibly dying out community and offering tourists something really unique.
Sadly I reckon the mining boys and the dollar will win out, but the locals we met were not interested in money they just wanted to keep their land, their traditions and their language. So the power of money and natural beauty in the world battle it out again... This issue dominated the trip and all the Pondo people we met so I had to share it with you (I didn't meet any of the pro-mining locals).
Home stay
Having spent two weeks in small tents in Tanzania, and having experienced the toilets on Kilimanjaro we were quite used to roughing it so fortunately had learnt to take things as they come. We stayed in a local hut on the first and third nights of the safari with a family that had never entertained foreigners or tourists before. The hut belonged to a man who had two wives, and we stayed within the cluster of huts overseen by his first wife. He had about fifteen children of all ages who were either intrigued by us and stared (the younger ones), or shyly interested and cautious (the kids in their teens). The family looked after us very well and cleared one of the huts for us to stay in with two mattresses on the floor and plenty of big cosy, colourful fleece blankets to keep us warm. They were pleased that we wanted to eat the local food and we had delicious rice and chicken for dinner, though the breakfast was less desirable - a form of semolina type porridge which stuck to the bowl even when turned upside down!
Toilet humour
As with many of these places there was a toilet issue - in that there wasn't one! No drop hole, no secret tree to hide behind, no out-building. To go to the toilet I was told the best place was in a big open field in front of the huts, next to the pig coral, overlooking a wonderful view of fields and hills stretching out to the ocean. Sound idyllic? Possibly not?! It certainly caused a panicky dilemma in me - how could I, the only white lady around, drop my knickers and pee in the middle of a field without creating local giggles and intrigue? In my mind I was imagining all the kids and locals watching how this blonde chick would pee. What made it worse (sorry boys, but ladies you will empathise) is that I had my period. This added the extra dimension of having to fumble around with toilet paper, tampons and plastic rubbish bags as well as trying to fight through layers of clothing to pee as quickly as possible. My only solution was to cross my legs and go after dark, and in the morning set my alarm to just before daylight so I could pee before any of the family awoke. Aside from these slight complications it really was a spectacular view shared with the horses, pigs, goats and dogs but as far as I was aware none of the people!!
The second night of the trip was spent in a fairly well established camp which had beds in permanent green canvas tents raised on wooden decking. The camp site was situated on a cliff top with a wiggly path down to the river mouth and sea – very beautiful. We were well catered for by local ladies who even boiled up water over a huge log fire for us to have a bag shower overlooking the river.
Looking back on the whole trip both East Africa and South Africa provided us with the most amazing spots of beauty for going to the toilet or having a shower - not something either of us had thought of before we set off and another happy surprise!
Local gathering
Along the way, as we tried our hardest to get Sally-4-left-feet and Spot-the-sure-footed-horse to actually move more than snail pace, we were invited into a cluster of huts where the family were having a small celebration. In the Pondo community when they celebrate they invite everyone in the local area to join them so we felt quite privileged to be included. The party was going on in one of their larger huts. The women sat on the ground on one side with their backs leaning against the circular walls, legs stretched in front of them and either food or babies in their laps. The men sat on the other side on low down stools and benches smoking and drinking. They giggled at Rob and I initially grabbing floor space next to each other, before we realised Rob should be sitting up with the men.
The story of the separation of men and women was not so much a religious or cultural gender division, like in the Muslim or rural gatherings I was used to in Sri Lanka, the reason was different. Traditionally the women sit in view of the open doorway so any enemy approaching will only see the women therefore assuming it easy to attack with the men away; the men sit hidden behind the door opening so they have the element of surprise and can attack when anyone enters. I thought this slightly flawed seeing as it's a tradition that everyone (including the enemy) would know about!
Anyway, Rob sat up with the group of 'protective' men to sample the home brew and I sat chatting to the women who were drinking the traditional coffee – which consists of a mix of hot milk and water poured out of a big old metal kettle into a mug of coffee powder and a LARGE amount of sugar, accompanied by the ubiquitous cake. The men were drinking their home made concoction (vaguely described as beer) and a cherished bottle of Smirnoff vodka. The celebration was due to the father giving land away to his daughter who was soon to be married. It was a fun, giggly and close insight into how this gentle and friendly community live.
Flying surprise
Our second invitation of local hospitality was of a very different nature and totally unexpected. On our last day as we were riding along the beach a microlite appeared out of the sky, followed us along the beach for a bit (by this time we had actually got the nags to canter which was an achievement!) then landed ahead of us. The 2 guys flying it waited for us to catch up with them and, after laughing at our horses(!), offered to give each of us a flight. The microlite was owned by Dan who had built it himself and was quite an expert / champ / internationally renowned microlite star – so I felt safe enough to jump at the chance. I'd never been on one before and aside from the noise it was absolutely awesome. Looking at the land we had been riding across from the air felt very special and I enjoyed the bumps and being pulled around by the thermals. Most of all I loved being high in the sky looking down over the endless wild coast beaches and the Indian Ocean with its patchy blues lining the white sand.
As we landed back on the beach I felt quite privileged and thought it an appropriate way to end an eventful and memorable few days and thought that perhaps next time the Wild Coast by air, or by foot might be a better option than four days of reluctant Pondo ponies!
Click here to check out the photos.
All creatures - great and small
This small island has so much to offer that even after four years of living here there are so many more things to discover in terms of wildlife and beautiful scenes. This month I thought it time to pack up the search for the large creatures and head in search of the small. Previous trips to national parks and nature reserves have been for the more obvious wildlife – capturing big cats on camera, watching for whales, enjoying close proximity to elephants at play, smiling at awkward-antlered dancing deer, clicking away at crocs, bears, birds and boars, and returning home with thousands of shots to edit, upload and share. So the small creatures for me were a new experience and it took a little time and patience to get attuned, or, rather, focussed.
I was lucky to manage two trips - to Talangama and Bodhinagala with the folk from Jetwings Eco Holidays, which for me were a way to both grab more wildlife photography opportunities in Sri Lanka and to understand and learn more about the indigenous species, the rain forest and wetland life, the migration patterns, and the breeding plumages, amidst two very different yet beautiful areas of the island.
On the first trip (to Talangama) we stopped the car to much excitement and I was wondering what it was we were looking at, until our guide Wicky pointed out a red dot perched on a twig beside the track. It was the aptly named Variable Flutterer dragonfly, such a vibrant red - a marvel of nature and its incredible ability to continually surprise. It stayed close for quite some time, this scarlet spec darting from twig to leaf. I took a while to work out what camera setting, what lens and what patience was needed to photograph this tiny compact creature with its glorious colouring. Whilst attempting to focus I was also wondering just how did Wicky spot it? I realised it would have been a futile attempt at photography on my behalf without someone there to point out where to look, how to look, and to explain what things were.
After the encounter with the VF I had now become hooked on the small. It was easy to appreciate these tiny, delicate net-winged creatures which became fun to seek out and photograph. So much so that I almost forgot about the plentiful birdlife, alongside my favourite buffalo herds, as they went about their business pecking, munching and wading through the Talangama wetlands or gathering in groups enjoying evening baths of mud - scenes illuminated by the golden light of dusk.
Talangama and Bodhinagala have different scenes to offer - wetlands and rainforest, both worthy of photography in their own right but for me the dragonfly had become my new interest. This could be found in both, so I was pleased to find more of these miniscule flights of colour whilst strolling beneath the forest canopy.
Bodhinagala was as impressive as Talangama in what we saw despite the odds being against us with the weather - we spent an afternoon seeking out dragonflies, butterflies, moths and birds. This time the guide was Sam whose excellent mimic of birdcalls alerted us to the huge variety of birdlife in the rainforest area. However, it was not the birds I was there for.
On arriving, after donning our fashionable leech socks (!), we set off up the hill to see what we could find having been warned that the light was not quite right for dragonflies or butterflies. Almost immediately our luck proved good as a Common Birdwing butterfly flew in front of us and perched for a few minutes on a branch just above our heads. It seemed to glow through its feathered markings of black, grey, white and yellow. The name is a great description of an incredibly impressive feat of nature - a butterfly’s wings mimicking those of a bird. We were privileged as the Birdwing, not normally known to stay around too long, settled on the branch for a few minutes giving us photographers the chance to happily click away.
The next impressive sighting for me was the Dark Forestdamsel dragonfly, which also proved a great challenge due to the patience needed to photograph this minute, compact and colourful insect. It had a long thin black abdomen, which kinked at the end with a small strip of electric blue, topped with fine net wings with a delicate patch of brown at their tip. Another dragonfly we managed to photograph, equally impressive and almost an insect caricature to an amateur such as me, was one yet to be identified but the experts amongst us thought it could be of the Drepanosticta species. This had a rustic red body dotted with six small blobs of turquoise along the back, the biggest being on the tip on the tail, and its tiny head was topped with two huge white eyes and mouth. Magnificent! For those of us that are not experts in the field and simply appreciate learning more about nature, these delicate and vibrant creatures were like cartoon characters – A Bugs Life coming to life. You don’t need TV when you have it here for real - natural, incredible and true. These three sightings were the highlights for me but we also encountered moths, lizards, geckos, caterpillars, millipedes, frogs, beetles, and Sri Lanka’s ever present monkeys which threw things down at us from the tops of the trees!
So, another successful couple of trips and yet more knowledge gained from the helpful and informative Jetwings team about this wonderful land and its incredible diversity of life. For me, it is time to get out the photography books and learn for next time how better to capture of the beauty of the miniscule, in focus and in glory, to share with those not fortunate enough to travel here to see for themselves.
Spotting Leopards
What do we commonly wish for from a safari trip? Wildlife, birds, scenery, sounds, smells, open spaces, remoteness, and often something unique to the particular park that we are visiting? On a safari trip to Yala surely everyone’s ultimate goal is to spot a leopard? Ours certainly was. Unfair though this is on the rest of the wildlife and the spectacular scenery in the park, it is the possible sighting of the legendary leopard that gets the binoculars out, the lenses at the ready, and the adrenaline pumping.
My last trip to Yala, and my first, in January 2007 involved two highly satisfactory safaris. We saw bears with cubs, elephants (including tuskers), jackals, crocodiles, hoopoes, black storks, eagles, bee eaters, owls, wild boar, buffalo galore, and a whole lot more plus some amazing photo opportunities. But we didn’t come across the elusive leopard.
This time around the Yala trip was with my mother (on a short visit from the UK), Jetwing Eco Holidays guide Sam, and our ever so patient and excellent driver Thiranga. We had already agreed that Yala had enough to offer for our safari trip to be excited about and that seeing the star of the park would simply be an added bonus (this so as not to get our hopes up too high). And we got more bonus that we bargained for! In our two safaris we sighted not one, not two, but three leopards. Up close and personal.
First sighting was of a male, excellently spotted by a tracker in another vehicle. He was well camouflaged sleeping under a bush just off the road, getting shade and cool after feeding on his buffalo kill. Several jeeps were crammed onto the road with many heads poking out to watch this magnificent creature. He was oblivious to the clicking of the cameras as we focussed in on his ribs heaving up and down in the heat, eyes closed with the occasional lifting of his head, and not a care in the world. We left him to it and decided to return at the end of our safari at dusk.
On our return he had vanished from his den, but instead of driving off on another round of the park we decided to patiently sit and wait. Patience is often rewarded. After ten or so minutes he strolled back through the scrub to his bed in the shade where we watched him playfully swipe at the flies with his massive paws and snap at them with his huge head. He was a big cat. He soon got bored with this game and to our delight decided to come out into the open. So we had the privilege to watch this magnificent male cat meander into the grassland; he was muscular, with clear markings, bright eyes, and all-in-all looking incredibly healthy. He walked around, lay down, rolled in the grass, watched us, watched the distant deer, yawned, rose up again and moved off as something made him decide to leave the area and his kill. He walked towards us, stopped in front of the jeep, took one long look and disappeared into the scrub with our eyes following in wonder at the time we had just spent with him.
As we headed off, thrilled with our close cat sighting, another male leopard walked into the road in front of us. Quite a contrast to the first. This cat was skinny, almost scrawny, and nervous – not the confident creature we had just been with, but none-the-less impressive. Our guide Sam thought this may be the brother of the first leopard going to feast on the buffalo kill. We quietly sat as he squeezed past the jeep, darting a look up at us before he trotted along the road behind. If I had stretched my arm out even slightly I would have touched him, he was so close. We quietly drove off all hoping he would get his clearly much needed feed.
As if this wasn’t enough, our third leopard sighting was two days later, although not so exclusive this time as others on safari shared the spectacular view. Again it was patience that got our rewards. The first sight of the cat was in the distance on some rocks – even far away has was an impressive animal, as large and healthy as the first we saw, confidently slinking his way over the top of the rock, standing and looking over the land before disappearing from our binoculared eyes. Most of the other vehicles hung around for about five minutes and then gave up, only a few of us played the patience game, heads anxiously turning 360 degrees for him to emerge from one of the bushes close by. Again we were rewarded as he came out onto the shallow rocks close to the jeep. He slowly sauntered through the open area towards us, then onto the road and into the scrub passing the rear of our vehicle and taking a look at us all staring back at him before he continued on his way.
A thrilling and exciting three sightings.
Not to do discredit to the other wildlife in Yala that day, as we also spent a wonderful 45 minutes watching an elephant family munching on trees before having the time of their lives in a shallow mud bath. Three mums with varying ages of babies – one about a month old, the other two were toddlers, one a young tusker. It felt very special to watch these huge and gentle creatures enjoying their bath time with smiles on their faces and snorts of satisfaction. The baby was well protected by long and bossy trunks pushing it this way and that. The toddlers were a little more exposed delighting in the mud and needing a bit of assistance in getting up. They were clearly being trained to face their fears as one was forced to cross the road in front of us without the protection of mum who had already gone on ahead and was waiting on the other side for him to reach her. He skipped, grunted and darted across the road. Two minutes later he was slotted in next to mum, sleeping in the shade waiting for the rest of the family to catch up.
We happily left them to their peaceful morning and headed back to our own for a much needed cup of tea and downloading of some memorable shots.
Check Mum's trip report on Bundala Birds.
The waiting game… watching for whales
On Sunday 29th March after months of talking to Gehan (friend, wildlife expert, photographer, businessman and someone who knows anything about everything including whales!) about checking out the whale watching I finally got to make the trip as I headed south with Lisa and Di for a weekend. It was a bleary-eyed early morning start as we journeyed the picturesque route from Hikkaduwa to Marissa, which after turning the corner in Galle becomes a constant reminder of how beautiful this coast is – pale blue seas pushing gently at the land as the coast road opens up to glimpses of sea in between houses, fishing huts, villas and hotels. As well as trying not to nod off, there was a feeling of excitement that finally I will be seeing SL from the ocean rather than the land and looking for the marine life I had heard so much about. Last year Gehan highlighted the fact that SL is one of the best spots in the world to see blue whales, also sperm whales, as they pass by the south coast between January and April.
We headed out at 7.15am on the pretty wooden ‘Spirit of Dondra’ fishing boat, with its friendly and helpful crew. A neat little boat with striped wooden deck, and comfy seats to lie in drifting off as she headed out to sea. The passengers were relaxed and soaking up the morning atmosphere as we set our sails towards the horizon slowly moving away from the misty shores, watching the shrinking outline of the hills inland. It was a calm morning with a gentle swell and we all hoped this meant some good whale sightings. We passed a wonderfully busy community of fishing boats - reds, blues and greens, darting in and out towards harbour or sea, and we eyed huge domineering cargo ships in the distance. Whilst all good fun by 10.30am we had still seen no whales!
Then one of the crew spotted some splashing in the distance, and although not the huge creature we had all anticipated we had come across a pod of playful spinner dolphins. I’m not sure how many there were, possibly between 10 and 15 giving us a wonderful display of acrobatics as they leapt out of the water twisting into the air than splashing back into the depths. A few came to check out the boat swimming alongside the bow before curiosity was over and they disappeared back to the seas. Sadly not many good photo opportunities but sometimes it’s nice to just put the camera down and enjoy the moment.
The Marissa Sports crew tried their hardest to find us some whales, but after travelling almost 20 nautical miles we thought it was time we gave up and headed back to land. Although some obvious disappointment dwelled amongst us we had had a calm and relaxing 6.5 hours out to sea - a rare and enjoyable time away from the hassles and pressures of life on land. Apparently there were whales the few days following, but nature cannot be put to a time table and the trip only entices me to try again! Besides, the dolphins were fun, the trip smooth and oh so relaxing, we were all well looked after …and you can’t ask better than that!
Australia Adventures Christmas 2008
As many of you know Australia is like a second home to me and I am devastated by the awful fires, the destruction and the loss of life. There's little I can do to help except keep in touch with those I know that are close to it, and perhaps update my blog to remind people of what a beautiful place Oz is.
At the end of 2007 Kangaroo Island suffered some terrible bushfires and we saw the extent of these on our trip to Oz this time around. However, although only a year ago, nature has been incredible at fighting back and growing again, and the island has very much come back to life in a short period of time. Perhaps this can offer a little hope to the hopeless situation of the bushfires in Vic right now?
(I started writing this blog update a month ago so have quickly finished it to show those in Oz I'm thinking of you all…)
Usually I find it easy to write a blog update as latterly it's been to places new to me which I always find exciting and words spill over themselves trying to get out (Japan:-)), or its been to places still not explored in Lanka that will constantly have a 'wow' factor for me. However, this Christmas the trip was to Australia, and it must be at least trip number 10 there for me, so how to describe anything new is difficult as it's like writing about home…. mmm….
Well the highlight of this trip was Kangaroo Island,
to which all of us privileged to have gone there, lived there, visited there often, it has a large place in our hearts as it really is a very special spot. An island full of old favourites including friends, food and familiar sites. It's been 17 years since I last properly saw the island, but not that much has changed particularly in the nooks and crannies off the beaten track. Although KI as a whole has quite a tourist trade now, with tarmac roads circling the island and monstrous wooden platforms dominating naturally beautiful sites like Admirals Arch, Remarkable Rocks and Seal Bay (which as a result are not so natural or remarkable !), it is still very peaceful and unspoilt.
To get to KI you either drive down from Adelaide and take your car on the ferry braving one of the worst sea crossings I've ever encountered (except perhaps a close-to-death experience on a hovercraft from France when even the ferries weren't stupid enough to cross), or you wimp out and fly, which also can have its moments! This time we took the cheats' way and flew from Adelaide to Kingscote in a compact little 10 seater plane which was a little like a fair ground ride - a cross between the one where you sit in an umbrella and whirl through the air as the machine judders up, down and around, and the ghost train where you're not sure what will loom up in front of you. For our trip what loomed in front of us was an impenetrable density of dark, dark grey and as we got closer to this wall of weather mum's face got whiter and I should have told her that we were about to land before having to enter this curtain of uncertainty. The feeling of relief was clear with a knowing silence as we touched down on the little runway - a smooth and perfect landing. Once on the ground the storm was spectacular with forks of lighting guiding our way as we drove across the island towards and through it in the little hire car, feeling safe in our rubber-wheeled red-painted cart. This is the best way to describe the most inappropriate car for driving around KI - very small, very low, and not even 4WD! Having said that though, it did us proud.
What to see on KI? The most beautiful, rugged beaches in the world. Our first stop was Bales Beach - the picture postcard of white sand, shrouded in sea mist, with multiple blues dappling the scene in front of you as you walk towards the sea, down sand hills scattered with lilac green scrub, and onto the beach. The grey storm clouds lingered like a ceiling full of mobiles made up of misshapen cotton wool balls, suspended in the sky with invisible string. Come rain or shine, all the KI beaches are spectacularly beautiful in their unique way - Vivonne Bay, Seal Bay, Snake Lagoon, Snelling and Stokes to name a few, but the two best for me are: Hanson Bay, and Kangaroo Beach. Hanson Bay is one of those places with a wow factor - the extremes of colour with blues, greens and whites in the sea and sand are Australia at its very best.
I drove to Hanson to pick up Mum and John who I'd sent off on a looonnnggg walk. I parked up the cart, zipped up my top and headed towards the scrub and the sound of the ocean. When I emerged through the hedges, towards the view of the bay and the coast beyond, I was hit by the breathtaking beauty of the place. I am hard to please and rarely get stopped in my tracks by anything much unless it really is very special - and this was. It was one of those "nature is incredible" moments: standing on a sand hill wrapped in my fleece with the winds rolling off the sea, tasting the salt in the air, gazing through the spray and feeling very alive, very happy and wondering how to stay longer!
Kangaroo Beach is the other side of the island (well, other side being north as opposed to south) and our visit there a day or two later was very hot with greatly improved weather. This is a private beach in the midst of farm land reached via a steep, almost vertical decent through folding hills of brown-green fields, with bemused cows watching you creep down the slope in your 4WD (Graham's, not ours - the hire care wouldn't have made it!). This is different to the south - the beach is calmer, the sea clearer, more transparent shades of blue, lined with fields and cliffs with scattered rocks below falling into the sea. As we waded in the (c-c-c-chilly) sea a seal lifted its nose through the surface but on realising s/he was no longer alone in this little piece of paradise it shimmied off, a shiny black head occasionally popping up to check our movements before disappearing into the depths below.
Aside from the spectacular beauty of the place, the wildlife is another reason to visit KI. From the seals in Seal Bay who lounge on the beach slowly raising their heads to gaze and growl at the groups of tourists - controlled in clusters by strict wildlife wardens, to the seal nursery at Admirals Arch where you watch them play on the rocks, diving in and out of the sea, to the lizards, the birds and the roos. As you know from previous posts my knowledge of bird life can be somewhat improved upon. But I still appreciate driving along with dashes of red, green, pink, grey and white diving in front of my eyes as the parrots ride the airs above and in front of the car; and I enjoy watching the bright coloured blue wrens and red breasted robins pecking at the grass while I'm sitting having a morning coffee or an early evening beer. Something we very much enjoyed doing at Graham's place.
We were lucky that while we were on KI Gaia - the impressive wooden house built by Graham on the block next to his, was free and not only for the 2 days we booked it but for the following few days as well. So we took advantage, changed our flights back to town and snuck in an extra few days to continue exploring, reminiscing and simply enjoying the pace of life on the island. Walks, wine, BBQs, beers, and Roos! Yes, the wildlife highlight was Graham's adopted family of Roos - Bella, Bugsy, Liz, Frank, Sam, etc. They were great fun. Most mornings …mmm, 5.00am!... you'd be woken by the THUD, THUMP, THUD of their long feet slowly hopping around the wooden deck outside the house hoping to wake you so they could get a feed. Early morning and early evening (and, err… mid-morning, lunch time, tea time….) plates of grain were much enjoyed by them all. It didn't stop there - eating breakfast was a challenge with Bella around as this little nose would suddenly appear close to yours just as you were trying to pop a piece of toast in your mouth, followed by two strong paws pulling at your hand trying to grab the bread away before you munched it all down! Possums and wallabies were also frequent visitors. And for the first time no spider sightings for me which was quite a pleasant change!
Graham was a great host and nothing was too much trouble for him so we were royally treated and very much enjoyed it. I cannot depart from the delights of KI without mentioning Graham's Michelin starred cooking - the most AMAZING marron dish to rival any 5 star restaurant in town. My mouth is watering just thinking about the succulent flesh of the marron soaked in a tangy champagne sauce accompanied by freshly baked bread - yummmm. (Marron is a sort-of fresh water cray fish to those of you that don't know). So we left the island sad and tearful but content after having had a wonderful and unforgettable week.
What about the rest of the trip? Well it was hectic and fun and great to see so many family members all at one time - it was Christmas chaos, but good! The food was a delight - BBQs, sea food, roast lamb, (drinkable - whoopee!) coffee, chocolate and cheeeeese… all the things I really miss from living in Asia. And of course how could I mention my trip to Oz without bringing up WINE. Yes, as usual I indulged, and with mum and John that's not hard. So I took them to visit one of my favourite wine regions - the Clare Valley.
I booked a cute old settlers cottage in Mintaro which as we arrived was lit up like rough pale gold in the evening sun. It was positioned in the midst of farm country at the bottom of a hill with nothing close by. We were overlooking yellow fields of stubble full of pink and grey galas, and watching the farmers working on a dusty hill behind us moving their tractors through the hazy evening light in front of a deep blue sky. Very picturesque. Also very noisy with hundreds of galas squawking and fighting for their place on the branches of the gum trees which surrounded the cottage and lined the fields. A wonderful scene whilst drinking a cool glass of Riesling on the patio. It was an amazing deal - a small 3 bedroom cottage with breakfast provisions included at AUS$75 pp/pn and more surprisingly included was a very pleasant decanter of port sitting enticingly on the sideboard - deep burgundy coloured liquid calling out to be slowly sipped and enjoyed. Which we did as the sun disappeared, the temperature dropped, and the warm fleeces came out along with the cheese, Maggie Beers pates and nibbles.
I have blogged about Clare before so I won't go on but it's a beautiful part of South Australia and the wineries are a delight - Skillogalee, Mitchell, Knappstein, Annies Lane, Tim Adams, Chapel Hill... to name a few. Plus a diversion home through the Barossa is always a treat particularly visiting my old favourite Henschke and my new favourite Two Hands - where a most delicious autumn brown coloured Muscat, in its a coffin shaped cool and trendy bottle lying in my fridge, comes from! (My luggage was 10 kilos over weight due to the wine, books and chocolate I brought back to Lanka with me - but I managed to charm my way through and not pay any extra - phew!)
A big thanks to Sue, Andy, Liz at no 25 and to Mary, Richard, and especially David for the Adelaide hospitality and the wonderful supply of drinks and chat at Hart Street.
So Australia still and always will have a place in my heart and I expect I will be back again soon! May try to sneak it into a round-the-world trip when I leave SL this year, though it might not be quite on route to Africa or South America which are potential places to explore as I take some time out after my 4 years in SL.
At the risk of repeating myself - watch this space!!
Oz photos on Flickr.
