‘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.
Kilimanjaro: be killed or conquer?
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.
