Galle and the Fort
Galle is where we planned our final three days, well three nights. We were right about the buses. There’s one leaving every few minutes for Colombo. I’d love to see buses like this on the streets of London, being driven Sri Lankan style. They feel huge, they accelerate and brake hard. They’re not as comfy as you might hope, but they do the job.
Except the designers of this one had forgotten about luggage! Three backpacks were stacked by the front door, and then every bend was a left hander, so they fell into the aisle every few minutes. Eventually one of the bus boys (odd to have two!) managed to tie them on.
Then we found out why we had two bus boys. One was so totally wasted he nearly fell off a few times. They were taking him home!
I had the ’good’ luck to sit where I could see the windscreen. I have a colleague who drives an Audi R8 very fast. Our young driver, head to head in similar machinery, could give him a run for his money!
As is usual in Sri Lanka we overtake on blind bends going uphill. It’s oddly safe, and you get used to it. Mostly!
And, of course, you have bus races. First to the stop gets the people standing there!
As far as I can tell, the red buses (The Lonely Planet says "yellow") are the national bus company ones and the other colours are privateers. Same ethos, though. Same bus races. The bus boy leans out of the door while his bus overtakes trucks and waves at them to slow down and let his bus in. And they do.
That’s pretty much how all Sri Lankan traffic works. He who overtakes has right of way. There’s much horn blowing, but it’s a code for "please let me pass, please let me in!"
The coast road goes through places devastated by the tsunami. Many homes have been rebuilt, many have no-one to rebuild them. Wrecked fishing boats are still strewn in unusual places, but there are strong fishing fleets in small harbours and offshore anchorages.
Words can’t describe, probably because the mind cannot conceive, the sadness and the overwhelming massive destruction. It’s easier to brush it off and just say "Yes, there was a tsunami." This must be very similar in its way to standing in New York City at the site of the World Trade Centre and thinking about, or being unable to comprehend the enormity of, either event, one natural, the other made made.
It’s been almost four years now. What is going to be rebuilt has been rebuilt. The towns are certainly back to roughly what they must have been beforehand. The occasional bus has a ’Donated by [donor name]’ sign on it. You can’t dwell on it. Life does go on.
This street could be almost anywhere. It happens to be in a tsunami devastated zone. Those of you who aren’t visiting because there’s nothing left, think again! No idea now which town. It might be Matara. Then again it might not!
I managed a few snaps from the moving bus of local colour. I’ve never quite liked taking pictures of schoolkids, but a moving bus is ok as a platform. The uniform, bizarrely for such a dusty country, is white. The boys look like an enormous cricket team, the girls have white blouses and skirts, little boys have white shirts and blue shorts. It’s a universal uniform, just with different ties, or, in Nuwara Eliya, pullovers.
They must have damned good soap powder! To be fair, though, we have also seen folk washing clothes in the old fashioned way in streams.
The old tourist resorts are definitely building back up. There was a mixture of large resort hotels on beach side of the road, and even the occasional island resort.
But this is not a place for a package tour beach hotel, it really is not. This is a place for the independent traveller to book an air ticket to, and then find accommodation. And to tour by bus, rail or yes, by car and driver.
The roads are being rebuilt, the surfaces are pretty good. If you can brave the traffic a motorcycle tour would be great fun. This is pretty much a no rules vacation paradise. Just learn how to fit in, and respect the nation and its customs.
27o rupees (about £1.30) saw the three of is in Galle. We’d expected a bus station. Oh no. It was a roadside drop, and, much to the annoyance of the bus boy, he couldn’t untie the backpacks!
Before we looked at the book to find a hotel we went to the station for train times to Colombo Fort. 9:30am. Ah well.