Monday, 26 January 2015

Through Bandarawela and on to Ella: Part 9 of Sri Lanka, Isle of Serendip

A Partial Descent from the Chilly Hill Station to Somewhere a Little Warmer

Hindus in the Highlands

Sri Lanka

We left Nuwara Eliya heading for Ella which is only 70km away, though in the mountains the drive would take a couple of hours without stops.

But of course there were stops. The first, after less than fifteen minutes, was at a Hindu temple. There are many such temples around Nuwara Eliya serving the large Tamil population, their forebears mostly imported by the British to work on the tea plantations. Sri Batkha Hanuman Temple lies below the road so we had a good view of the roof which, appropriately for a temple dedicated to Hanuman, was covered in monkeys. The epic allegorical poem The Ramayana, traditionally credited to the poet Valmiki in 5114 BCE, tells of how the demon king Ravana steals Sita, the wife of the Lord Rama, and carries her off to the Isle of Lanka. With the help of Hanuman and his monkey army, Ravana is defeated and Sita and Rama are reunited. Unsurprisingly, Hanuman is a poplar deity among Sri Lankan Hindus.

Monkeys on the Sri Batkha Hanuman Temple, near Nuwara Eliya

Hindu temples are usually brightly coloured but unfortunately only a small part of this one was freshly painted.

Sri Batkha Hanuman Temple, near Nuwara Eliya

From here the road dropped gently and as it did the weather improved. We paused again to look at the view.

Heading South from Nuwara Eliya

Bandarawela: The Mlesna Tea Centre

After another hour we reached the small town of Bandarwela, the first settlement of any size we had encountered. On the outskirts we stopped at the Mlesna Tea Centre. The Mlesna Company, founded in the 1980s, packs a large number of blends and single estate teas and offers a free cup of tea to passing travellers.

As the waiter delivered our free cuppa he asked where we came from. 'England,' I told him. 'London?' he asked, as everyone does. 'No,’ I said, ‘we live between Manchester and Birmingham,' which happily name checks one place everybody has heard of. 'Manchester United!' is the usual riposte in this ritual conversation, but the waiter said, 'When I worked in Cyprus I became friendly with an English family who went home to live in Stafford.' I told him I knew the town well and used to work there. 'They live in Sandon Road,' he said. It is a long residential street I have driven down on several occasions. Small world.

Southern Sri Lanka
We drove southeast from Nuwara Eliya to Bandarawela, then northwest to Ella (unmarked but south of Badulla)

Later we looked round the shop and, like most visitors, spent more than enough to cover the cost of the freebie.

Dowa Cave Temple: An Enormous Key and an Ancient, Unfinished Carving of the Buddha

A little way beyond the town Ravi stopped by the side of the road. 'Dowa Temple,’ he said, ‘with a rock carving of the Buddha.' He pointed to a track dropping into a small ravine.

Following the track we quickly reached a set of concrete steps leading down to a small temple. At the bottom we were met by the smiling guardian wielding a huge key.

Dowa Temple, Bandarawela

He unlocked the door and let us into what turned out to be less of a building and more of a rock temple, a smaller version of those at Dambulla. There were the inevitable statues, reclining Buddhas and paintings on the walls and rock ceilings which were of variable height. The Rough Guide rather snootily comments that the paintings are of no great merit, but I was impressed by their vigour - and their mere existence in this unlikely spot.

Reclining Buddha under the rock ceiling, Dowa Temple, Bandarawela

There was no entrance fee, but a sign requested donations. We offered a couple of hundred rupees which delighted the already cheerful guardian who insisted on photographing us with his key.

Dowa Temple: The Magnificent Key

We had not seen the promised carving, but as we left the guardian pointed us up a rocky slope beside the temple. We had removed our shoes on entry; on the smooth floor it had been no problem, but the ascent of the rough pebble-strewn rock caused some pain. At the top we could see nothing and wondered why we had been sent up there. Disappointed we turned to descend and there was the Buddha, right in front of us.

The cave and the large half-finished carving are traditionally credited to King Walagamba whose reign in 1st century BCE Anuradhapura was interrupted by Tamil invasions. He allegedly built the temple whilst hiding out here and was forced to move on before the Buddha could be finished. He is also credited with some of the similar cave temples in Dambulla, but I suspect he was the sort of chap people wanted to connect their cave temples with, regardless of who actually made them. The ancient carving is suffering from the ravages of time and could do with some protection.

Unfinished rock carved Buddha, Dowa Temple, Bandarawela

Rambutans

Our final stop before Ella was at a roadside stall to buy some rambutans, getting eight for our 100 rupees. ‘Two weeks ago,’ Ravi said, ‘they would have given you four, in a couple of weeks, at the height of the season, maybe 20.’ They have a sort of Poundland approach to pricing.

Ella and Lamprais

We reached Ella in time for our by now traditional late lunch. According to the Rough Guide, 'beautiful Ella ...is the closest thing to an English country village you will find in Sri Lanka.' It is a stretch to describe this motley collection of wooden buildings lining a dusty main street as beautiful, though they do have a certain charm. I can't claim to have seen every country village in England, but I have seen a fair few, and I have never seen one looking remotely like Ella. Whether it is beautiful or not, Ella’s surroundings are undeniably lovely and its climate is delightful, much warmer than chilly, drizzly Nuwara Eliya but cooler than the aggressively hot plains.

Ella, just like an English village?

We ate at the Café Chill which, as its name implies, had a largely youthful clientele – backpackers, for want of a better word. A large, rambling wooden shed with a roof but no external walls, it looked rustic and basic at first glance, but on closer inspection it was a much more sophisticated and slick operation than it initially appeared.

We found the only free table and watched the staff, half adozen young men in smart uniforms and tall cardboard hats, do-si-do-ing round each other in the small open kitchen.

Lynne ordered an unadventurous chicken sandwich, while I decided to try lamprais. The word is apparently derived from the Dutch lomprijst, and is almost the only reminder that the Dutch* once ruled the island. According to Google Translate lomprijst means 'boorish rice' suggesting that lamprais is merely a variation on the standard rice and curry, and an uncultured one at that. It is in fact rice and chicken curry with a boiled egg and a slick of dhal, cooked in a folded banana leaf.

The open kitchen allowed us to check the cleanliness of the staff and equipment – they passed with flying colours – but also let us spot the shortcut. One huge lamprais was cooked in a pot and the individual portions were only wrapped in a wilted banana leaf just before serving. The lamprais did not look particularly appetizing when unwrapped, but it smelt good and tasted pleasant enough though it was hardly exciting.

Lamprais, Café Chill, Ella

The Ella Gap

We drove down Ella's main street and turned right at the end. 'There is only the Ravana falls left for today,' Ravi said. I was busy reading the itinerary. 'There's something called the Ella Gap,' I said. Ravi gave me an odd look and stopped the car. I looked up from what I was reading and there was the Ella Gap right in front of me. Below the village the valley drops dramatically and you can see down almost to the coastal plain. I nearly missed it for reading about it.

The Ella Gap

The Ravana Falls

The Ravana Falls were a few minutes’ drive away. Water cascades down some 25m of the valley side in a series of falls, none of them enormous, but the combined effect is impressive. It is difficult to get far enough away for an effective photograph as we were standing on the same steep valley side.

The Ravana Falls, Ella

When Ravana, the demon king in the Ramayana, carried off Sita to the Isle of Lanka he had to keep her somewhere. 400 steps lead up to what is allegedly the very place, but there is nothing there except a small cavern so we did not bother. Ravi clearly though it unimportant and, as no major shrine has developed, I suspect (though without any other evidence) that this is a late (and perhaps tourism driven) addition to the legend. Whether it is or not, several foot soldiers from the Monkey King’s army were patrolling the area looking for scraps of food, particularly in the pull-off where everybody parks. They can be a nuisance, but less so, according to Ravi, than the hawkers. He warned us they can be clingy, but we had no problem. Apart from the usual trinkets they specialise in pretty stones which may, or may not, be unpolished gemstones; a good way of buying a perfectly ordinary pebble at a 'bargain' price, I thought. They have to work hard though, there is a constant turnover of visitors, but few stay long, once you have seen the falls that is all there is.

A few more minutes down the valley brought us to our stop for the night, the Feelin' Good Guesthouse, where Ravi left us and headed off for his own digs. Despite the appalling name it was very pleasant, a light and airy, modern wooden building owned and run by a bluff German and his Sri Lankan wife.

Our room was comfortable though sparsely furnished with no television or air-con, but the mosquito net over the bed suggested the management understood priorities.

Lynne had a nap while I went down and sat on the terrace, working on this blog (I was probably on episode two at the time) and supping a Lion Lager. I had a chat with the owner. The area, he told me, was poor and food prices were high after the wet season, which had been particularly late and severe this year. Crops had been damaged and there had been landslides, one of which had closed the road to Ella for a while. We had already noticed the hotel further up the valley which had avoided being swept into the depths by only a few metres.

Blogging beneath the German flag, Feelin' Good, Ella

We ate in the guesthouse as there was nowhere else we could have reasonably gone. My rice and curry was one of the better of its ilk and although Lynne had a pop at me - 'haven't you eaten enough rice already today?' - I would back the authenticity of my dining experience against her spaghetti Bolognese. It has come a long way from Bologna, that dish, and changed a tad on the way, but she seemed happy with it.

*Except for the massive fort at Galle, which we will get to due course.

Sri Lanka, The Isle of Serendip

Part 1: Colombo to Anuradhapura and Mihintale
Part 2: Anuradhapura Ancient and Modern
Part 3: Polonnaruwa and Kandalama, An Ancient City and a Modern Hotel
Part 4: Sigiriya Rock and an Ayurvedic Massage
Part 5: Dambulla and on to Kandy
Part 6: Kandy and Around
Part 7: By Train to Nuwara Eliya
Part 8: The Horton Plains, Nuwara Eliya and a Cup of Tea
Part 9: Through Bandarawela and on to Ella
Part 10: Ella, Little Adam's Peak and the Demodara Bridge
Part 11: The Sinharaja Rainforest
Part 12: Kataragama and the Yala National Park
Part 13: Through Hambantota to Mirissa
Part 14: Galle, Fish and a Fort
Part 15: Colombo, National Day and a Full Moon

Sunday, 25 January 2015

The Horton Plains, Nuwara Eliya and a Cup of Tea: Part 8 of Sri Lanka, Isle of Serendip

Walking through a Cloud Forest, Exploring Nuwara Eliya and Visiting a Tea Plantation.

25-Jan-2015

From the Hill Club to the Horton Plains

Sri Lanka

Anywhere else in Sri Lanka the cool of the morning is the best part of the day. The air feels fresh and clean, it touches the skin with gentle warmth that may hint at the fire to come, but for that moment holds all the promise of a day new born. It was different at Nurwara Eliya. We stood outside the Hill Club in the pre-dawn darkness, clutching our packed breakfasts and huddling inside the warm clothing we had put away when we got on the plane at Heathrow.

We were not alone. A car came and took the other couple away and a few minutes later a minibus arrived. The driver got out, looked around nervously and saw no one else but us. A few minutes later he was driving us through the still dark streets of Nuwara Eliya and then out of town southwards towards the Horton Plains.

Dawn broke and away to our right we could see the conical summit of Adam's Peak. Lynne suggested we stop and take a picture. I thought it was too far away and anyway we would surely get a better view in the next few days. We took no picture and never saw it again. Adam’s Peak at 2,243m (8,281ft) is only the fourth highest mountain in Sri Lanka, but it is easily the most photogenic. The highest peak Pidurutalagala is an undistinguished lump outside Nuwara Eliya which is close to 2,000m itself.

Onto the Horton Plains

By six thirty we had reached the park entrance and were queuing up to buy tickets. It was now fully light, but misty and still far from warm. After a couple of days without £16 each entrance fees they were back - and with van hire on top it was not a cheap morning out.

Queueing for tickets, Horton Plains National Park

Equipped with a ticket, we drove to the visitor centre and parked. A large Sambar stag hung around the car park, apparently used to humans and relaxed in their company - I presume someone was feeding him.

Sambar stag, Horton Plains National Park

The driver ushered us out of the van. His English was limited and we had not been able to converse, but he had a little speech ready for this situation. 'Easy walk, good path, can't get lost,' he said pointing towards a hut beyond the car park.

We joined a small queue of westerners to have our tickets checked and our time of entry noted - I suppose they did not want to lose anybody.

The Horton Plains have been a National Park since 1988 but were discovered in 1834 by Lts William Fisher and Albert Watson who named it after Sir Robert Wilmot-Horton the Governor of Ceylon. Creeps. Of course they did not really discover the Horton Plains, the locals had known the area for millennia, mining it for gems and iron ore and calling it Maha Eliya Thenna (Great Open Plain). They were not just creeps, they were arrogant creeps. They discovered the Horton Plains like Columbus discovered America - but at least they knew where they were and, unlike Columbus they did not unwittingly presage a semi-intentional genocide of the indigenous inhabitants; the Sinhalese prospered before the British came and are prospering now. But the Sinhalese did not discover the Horton Plains either. The stone tools of the Balangoda people have been found here and they were probably the forebears of the Vedda, the indigenous people of Sri Lanka, of whom some 2,500 survive. They were supplanted (i.e. all but wiped out) when the Sinhalese arrived in 500BC. I do not mention this to excuse Fisher and Watson in particular or British Imperialism in general, but merely to point out that cultural exceptionalism is almost a default position for the human race.

We crossed a stream that was stocked with rainbow trout by the British planters, civil servants and Amy officers who could not do without their angling. Nobody fishes for them now and the intrusive trout are taking their toll on the local ecosystem.

The Red Bridge over a trout stream Horton Plains National Park

A Circuit of the Horton Plains

The path was indeed clear and we soon reached a parting of the ways marked by a boulder painted with arrows and distances. If we turned left we went to Little World's End, Great World End and the Baker Falls, if we went right we visited the same places in reverse order. Lynne’s reading of our itinerary had led her to expect a 4km walk, but the circuit was clearly 9km. She was not a happy bunny. 'Little World's End is only 2km,' I suggested meekly (and a touch disingenuously).'We could just walk there and back.'

The Horton Plains are not quite as flat as the name suggests (though flatter than the Plain of Jars in Laos) but the path was obvious and there were no serious gradients. It was eerily quiet in the morning chill, even the birds had fallen silent.

Across the misty plains, Horton Plains National Park

After a while the open plain gave way to forest. This is cloud forest, characterized by an abundance of mosses. Clouds drift in from the Indian Ocean and the first land they hit is the Horton Plains where they became stuck and give up their moisture to the vegetation.

Into the cloud forest, Horton Plains National Park

Little World's End

The Horton Plains are big, and although there had been many cars in the car park the crowds were easy to lose and we seemed to have the park to ourselves. That impression was shattered when we reached Little World's End where everybody pauses, so there is always a small crowd.

At Little World's End and not stepping backwards, Horton Plains National Park

At the edge of the plateau the land drops away into a valley far below, and then, from the valley’s mouth, right down to the coastal plain. It was too hazy to see the sea 50km away, it is rarely otherwise, but we could make out a lake on the plain some 2000m below.

Looking down from Little World's End, Horton Plains National Park

From Little World's End it is only another kilometre to Greater World's End. I was expecting a discussion (which sounds better than ‘argument’) but after we had peered into Little World's End and taken our photographs, Lynne set off for Great World's End without any prompting.

Great World's End

It was a similar walk, stretches of open plain alternating with cloud forest. The route mainly dropped gently and we sometimes had to clamber down over boulders making the path impassable for wheeled vehicles.

On to Great World's End, Horton Plains National Park
(occasionally the path rose gently!)

It did not take long to reach Great World's End, which looks very similar and a little bigger than its smaller cousin. [Ten days after we returned home a Dutch tourist - a man on his honeymoon - stepped backwards off the deck while taking photographs. He was stopped by a tree fifty metres below, but rescue equipment had to be brought on foot so over three hours passed before he could be restored to level ground, shaken but not too badly hurt. News reports claimed he was the first person ever to survive a fall from World’s End, which might be true but although the descent into the valley looked precipitous it was not, literally, a precipice and any faller would have a good chance of coming to rest at some point from which rescue could be effected. That is my theory - I would not wish to put it to the test.]

The view from Great World's End, Horton Plains National Park

To The Baker Falls

From here it was almost as easy to go on as to go back. The next part of the walk took us across more open plain. It was much warmer now and birds flew above and around us. I wished, not for the first time, that I could name some of the more exotic. We had seen information boards (I felt sorry for the ‘dull blue flycatcher’ which is actually quite pretty) but that did not help with the birds that resembled martins or the ones with red throats and shiny dark blue wings. Above us we heard, but did not see, something that sounded like a skylark, while above that birds of prey wheeled threateningly.

We had lost height walking to the World’s Ends, and the path dropped further across the plain. I was a little concerned that we would finish with a big climb and I would have to listen to Lynne blaming me for it, as she did in Vietnam.

Across the Horton Plains

Eventually we reached the bottom of a wooded hill. The path split, one fork rising steeply up a path of baked and beaten mud veined with tree roots, the other winding round the base of the hill. Unsure which way to go, we tried the flat path which ran for fifty metres before suddenly terminating in a modern toilet block. It looked weirdly out of place hidden in the jungle, but we used it and returned to the split. Here we met the first people going the other way and after comparing times realised we were well over half way round. We cheerfully set off up the hill.

A steep path of beaten mud veined with tree roots, Horton Plains National Park

The Baker Falls were somewhere to our left, but we were not sure which of several paths leading down to the river would give the best view. We reached the top with remarkably little complaining from Lynne and here a short, steep descent was signposted to the falls. Lynne was flagging so I slithered down to take photographs for both of us. More than once I have been disappointed visiting waterfalls in the dry season, but the Baker Falls, while hardly being one of the world's biggest waterfall, did have plenty of water.

The Baker Falls, Horton Plains National Park

From the top of the falls it was a pleasant walk along almost level ground back to our starting point. Lynne had completed the whole circuit with minimum moaning and felt well pleased with herself.

Walking back from the top of the Baker Falls, Horton Plains National Park

Exploring Nuwara Eliya by Car and Foot

The driver took us back to the Hill Club where Ravi was waiting, and he had to wait a little longer as we needed to shower after our exertions. The plan had been to visit a tea factory, but the writer of the itinerary had forgotten it was Sunday, and the factories were closed. Ravi took us for a drive round Nuwara Eliya to see some of the buildings that earned it the name ‘Little London’. They were not really very British, but they were more British than Sri Lankan. After finishing our walk in sunshine, Nuwara Eliya was cold and drizzly so we had no inclination to get out of the car and walk.

British style house, Nuwara Eliya

We lunched in a lakeside café. There was a mixed clientele of locals and tourists and an open kitchen so we could watch our food being prepared. Lynne enjoyed her sea food rice, but my devilled beef was tough – what did I expect, Sri Lankan beef always is. A large multi-generational group of Chinese tourist sat at a long table passing round plastic bags containing condiments, sauces, even side dishes, as they attempted to Sini-fy the Sri Lankan food.

We gave Ravi the afternoon off and he dropped us back at the Hill Club. When the drizzle ceased we set out on foot to explore the town. Officially Nuwara Eliya has 40,000 residents, though it feels like a big village. Half the inhabitants are Sinhalese, the other half divided almost equally between Sri Lankan Tamils - descendants of the Tamil influx in the 2nd century BCE - and Plantation Tamils imported from India by the British to work the tea plantations. Plantation Tamils have a reputation as market gardeners and across the road from the club a man was watering his small field/large garden, of healthy looking vegetables.

The Hill Club, Nawara Eliya

‘Little London’ or not, the town centre is standard Sri Lankan, in looks if not in weather.

Central Nuwara Eliya

At its heart is a busy, occasionally chaotic market.

Market, Nuwara Eliya

The lurid contents of the cake shop were particularly popular.

Cake shop, Nuwara Eliya

Outside the market I liked this line of stone elephants supporting a sort of patio.

Elephants holding up a patio/balcony, Nuwara Eliya

In the evening I donned the Hill Club’s jacket and tie for another of their five course table d'hôte dinners; prawn vol-au-vent, bouillabaisse, roast strip loin of beef and ice cream in puff pastry. ‘Strip loin’ was unfamiliar but is apparently an American steak cut, though this example would have benefitted from long, slow cooking. Roasted it was tougher than Jean-Claude Damme – we should have had the chicken!

26-01-2015

The Pedro Tea Estate

In the morning we checked out, paid a large bill for our memorable dining experiences and, as it was now Monday, took the short but belated trip to the Pedro Tea Estate.

What the well dressed tea watcher is wearing this year
Pedro Estate, Nuwara Eliya

Properly togged up, along with several others, we entered the wilting sheds where the newly picked tea is spread out and gentle heat is applied for several hours.

Wilting room, Pedro Tea Estate, Nuwara Eliya

We moved through to the main factory where photography is strictly forbidden and watched a variety of machines, cut, roll and grade the tea. They were fascinating to watch though it was not always quite clear what they were doing or how they were doing it. The guide proudly told us the tea goes from bush to the wholesale market in Colombo in under 24 hours, but for the workers the hot, dusty conditions were distinctly unpleasant.

We were allowed to photograph the tray of grades of tea from ‘orange pekoe’ - just the bud at the top of the plant - through ‘broken orange pekoe’ and ‘bud and two leaves’ down to ‘fannings’ (also called dust). I had thought ‘English breakfast tea’ was a brand name, but it is actually one of the lower grades of tea.

Graded teas, Pedro Tea Estate, Nuwara Eilya
English Breakfast Tea is second from the left bottom row

We left the factory for the tasting room, where they brewed us a cuppa – none of that messing about with ceremony you get in China. Much of the tea drunk in England is Sri Lankan so it was familiar stuff. Oddly, although the country changed its name to Sri Lanka in 1972, the tea is still sold as Ceylon Tea.

A cup of Tea, Pedro Tea Estate, Nuwara Eliya

We took a walk through the bushes so I could give my expert opinion on the state of the harvest (it looked good) and then set off down towards Ella, still in the highlands but a bit lower and, hopefully, a bit warmer than Nuwara Eliya.

Checking the vintage, Pedro Tea Estate, Nuwara Eliya

Saturday, 24 January 2015

By Train to Nuwara Eliya: Part 7 of Sri Lanka, Isle of Serendip

An Enormous Buddha, the Wrong Cemetery, a Train Ride and the Hill Club

The Bahiravakanda Buddha

Sri Lanka

Today’s main event was a train ride up to Nuwara Eliya, the highest town in Sri Lanka's hill country, but as it left at midday we had time to see some of Kandy's other landmarks.

A huge white statute of a seated Buddha overlooks the town, and despite Kandy being tucked into a dozen different valleys it can be seen from nearly everywhere. The twenty minute walk from the city centre is steep, so we were happy to let Ravi drive us there.

The Bahiravakanda Buddha looks down over Kandy

This is Sri Lanka, so you must pay to enter the Buddha's enclosure, (and pay again for someone to look after your shoes), but the view from the top is worth the price - it would even have been worth the effort of walking up.

Kandy from the Bahiravakanda Buddha

The view of the statue, though, is better from the valley; here it is too close and too large.

The Bahiravakanda Buddha, Kandy

Commonwealth War Graves, Kandy

We had suggested to Ravi that we would like to see the graveyard of the British garrison, a nineteenth century curiosity in the royal complex beside the lake. Most of those interred died depressingly young from diseases (mostly now conquered), accidents (some of them bizarre) and, occasionally, enemy action.

We thought Ravi had taken this on board so I was a little surprised that from the Buddha he did not descend to the lake, but drove us round the hill and down a couple more valleys which seemed to be heading away from the city. Ravi knew his way round Sri Lanka in general and Kandy in particular, so we said nothing.

'Here we are,' he announcedturning down a country lane a few miles outside the city. As he brought the car to a halt we realised that we had arrived at a Commonwealth War Graves cemetery - we had not known there was one in Kandy, nor indeed that Sri Lanka had been involved in World War II. We had discovered it by serendipity, which seemed appropriate on the Isle of Serendip.

Lynne at the Commonwealth War Graves cemetery, Kandy

The cemetery is maintained in collaboration with the botanical gardens and like all Commonwealth War Graves it is beautifully looked after. The guardian/duty gardener wandered over to show us round.

There is one WW1 grave, the son of British residents of Sri Lanka who was killed in France; the other 200 are from WW2. After the fall of Singapore the headquarters of the British Indian Ocean Fleet was moved to Sri Lanka - the island guarded the route to the gulf and its oil and there was concern that it might be the next Japanese target. There were bombing raids on the fleet, which accounted for many of the casualties, but no invasion was ever seriously threatened.

Commonwealth War Graves cemetery, Kandy

There were many Sri Lankan names among the dead, many British, too, but also a surprising number of African names. It seems strange that a son of one continent should sign up to serve a country on another continent and be sent to die on a third - I suppose that is what makes it a world war.

Peradeniya Station

The cemetery was not far from Peradeniya station and the botanical gardens. For some reason best known to the nineteenth century pioneers who built the railway, the main line from Colombo to Badulla misses central Kandy, stopping instead at this small suburban station.

Peradeniya Old Station

As we parked, Ravi told us he was unhappy about his brakes and wanted to have new brake pads fitted before driving into the hill country. He told us he would deliver our suitcases as soon as he could and meanwhile his friend Raj would meet us at Nanu Oya station and take us to our hotel in Nuwara Eliya. We would recognise Raj, he said - he was a man in his fifties with a large moustache. We were unconvinced. A middle aged Sri Lankan man without a moustache would be something to look for; a middle aged Sri Lankan man with a large moustache is just a middle aged Sri Lankan man.

Sri Lanka (click to enlarge)
The Colombo - Kandy (nearly) - Nuwar Eliya (nearly) - Badulla Railway is clearly marked

Peradeniya is a delightful old station, with vintage signals, seats in the shade and a no photographing sign to ignore. Our train was half an hour late, but as it had come all the way from Colombo that would have been considered early on Indian railways.

Vintage signals, Peradeniya Station

The Train to Nuwara Eliya

The train was a clattering line of tin boxes hauled by a diesel that looked more suitable for a commuter line than a main line service involving a climb from Colombo at sea level to 1,800 m (6,000ft).

Most of the waiting passengers were Europeans, and we all filed into the otherwise empty first class carriage. The rest of the train looked packed - standing room only - but not Indian-style packed nobody was hanging out of the doors or sitting on the roof.

Here comes the train, Peradeniya station

The privately run ExpoRail first class carriage was attached to a regular Sri Lankan Railways train. It was of the same flimsy construction, but fitted with reclining seats and aggressive air conditioning. Multiple screens hung from the ceiling showing adverts and returning repeatedly to the unlikely claim that ExpoRail was ‘redefining train travel’. Presumably they felt rich Europeans would not feel at home without a vacuous marketing slogan to consider.

Palm trees and paddy fields south of Peradinya

We rolled through pleasant green countryside; paddy fields lined with coconut palms are always easy on the eye. Soon the two smartly dressed young stewards brought round rice and curry and we lowered our tray tables. It was not quite like being on a plane, the wooden tables opened to such an angle that lunch would have arrived in our laps had we used them. The stewards, though, were obliging and friendly and the food was surprisingly good – far better than any curry we have eaten on a plane.

Lynne with rice and curry ExpoRail style

The landscape became steadily less tropical with first the palms thinning out and then the paddy fields. The first tea plantations appeared amid streams and the occasional waterfall. By the time the stewards brought us an afternoon cuppa, tea bushes covered every slope and valley like vines on the Côte d’Or.

Paddy fields but no palm trees north of Hatton

With frequent stops at small towns and places that were not towns at all, we climbed higher into the mountains. After a couple of hours we reached Hatton. Presumably named after a tea planter or his plantation, this town of 15,000 people is best known as the place where the Hatton National Bank, Sri Lanka’s largest, was founded. It is also the place to alight for those wishing to climb Adam’s Peak. Climbing the conical mountain to its summit at 2243m (7,359ft) is a pilgrimage for adherents of all the island’s religion; a rock formation near the top being variously interpreted as the footprint of Buddha, Shiva or Adam.

Tea mono-culture, near Hatton

Like most of the foreigners we got off at Nonu Oya. The 92km journey (60 km as the crow flies) had taken 3¾hrs. As we descended the stairs from the bridge we were approached by a middle aged man with a large moustache, 'I am Raj, Ravi's friend,' he said.

Crossing the bridge at Nonu Oya station

The drive from Nonu Oya to Nuwara Eliya took fifteen minutes, the road winding between the tea-covered hillsides

The Hill Club, Nuwara Eliya

Nuwara Eliya (pronounced New-rail-ya) is known as Little England. The cool climate attracted tea planters and administrators, and their houses, though hardly very English are even less Sri Lankan. We were to stay at the Hill Club, once the club of the British overlords, now a club for the Sri Lankan elite who operate it like a hotel dedicated to ensuring that nothing will ever change. The club, like most of the 'British' buildings in Nuwara Eliya, is a dog's breakfast, a cut and shut of two buildings, neither of which look quite right.

The Hill Club, Nuwara Eliya

We checked in and were told the rules - no shorts or sandals in the public areas after five o'clock, gentlemen must wear jackets and ties in the dining room - and went to our room. South Suite 2 was not as the name might suggest one of two or more southern suites, but was half of the former South Suite. Nevertheless it was large and comfortable enough, though as darkness fell it became cool - verging on cold, for a man wearing shorts and tee shirt, clothing which, according to the rules, now confined me to our room.

Seven o'clock came, and Ravi had still not arrived. I am reluctant to phone somebody who is driving, but eventually I felt I had to know where he had got to. He answered surprisingly quickly. 'Where are you?' I asked. 'At the front door of the Hill Club,' he answered.

We went down to collect our bags. The receptionist in his neat dark suit looked at me in my shorts and tee shirt, made a perfunctory effort to hide his sneer and organised a flunky to move our bags. Ravi explained the arrangements for the next day and we headed back upstairs to dress for dinner - not a phrase I use very often.

Properly dressed for dinner after I had borrowed a jacket and tie
Hill Club, Nuwara Eliya

While we were in our room there was a knock on the door. An aged flunky appeared with two hot water bottles, placed them in the bed, but a pillow on top each to retain the heat and bowed his way out.

The Hill Club may like to think it is as unchanging as a rock, but it is not entirely immune to societal shifts. In the 19th century ladies were not allowed through the front door, but they got over that and then, half a century ago, they swallowed the elephant - the change from British to Sri Lankan control. They have been straining at gnats ever since, but between the publishing of our copy of the Rough Guide and our arrival, the 'men only' bar had become the 'informal bar' and was open to all. There is also an 'informal restaurant', same food, same price no jacket and tie. That was where we headed, now that I was wearing long trousers and a shirt.

A sign of changing times, Hill Club, Nuwara Eliya

It was full. One of the waiters indicated that I should follow him, and I found myself in the billiards room with several other gentlemen rifling through a wardrobe in an effort to find acceptable appropriate clothing. There must be people who pack a jacket and tie when they come to Sri Lanka on holiday, but I am not one of them. Looking round the dining room, the quantity of non-matching and ill-fitting clothing on display suggested I am part of the overwhelming majority, though I think (or imagine) that I got away with it reasonably well. The ladies in general and Lynne in particular handled the situation much better - no surprise there.

Dining Room, the Hill Club, Nuwara Eliya

The formal dining room was indeed formal, the five course table d'hôte menu a Sri Lankan take on the 1960s British take on sophisticated French dining. Liveried Sri Lankan waiters with white gloves and silver trays floated silently through a throng of mainly European diners. Four Japanese girls sat together at one table, but why there were together was a mystery as none of them spoke or lifted their eyes from their phones all evening. There were a sprinkling of other Japanese tables but in two nights we saw only one person of south Asian appearance, an elderly woman dining with a European friend.

Coffee by a roaring fire, Hill Club, Nuwara Eliya

It was not a great meal, nor indeed a cheap one, particularly as we paid premium price for a very ordinary Italian merlot - though it made a pleasant change from Lion lager. We drank our coffee in the lounge before a roaring log fire, probably the only one on the island. Above the fire were portraits of the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh, unchanged since the 1950s. Eventually we retired to our room. It had been a strange experience, but we had rather enjoyed our step back in time and even looked forward to a rerun tomorrow - though we would be happy to return to the 21st century afterwards.