**As always, you’ll find accompanying photos for this post here.
We left Haputale behind, courtesy of our random encounter with a tuk tuk driver who took pity on us and delivered us to the next junction, and boarded the first of three buses to our next destination: Tangalle.
The bus to Pelmadulla was already full when we boarded, meaning we got to experience standing for the last of the hill country descent. As the bus lurched and swayed, I created new dance moves in my effort to surf the corners and maintain both my balance and my grip on the handles, as the woman wedged in behind me seemed content to use me instead of her own strength to stabilise herself. While we cruised around sweeping bends and I struggled to keep my crotch off the motorcycle helmet sitting in the lap of the man seated directly below me, I chuckled as the woman in front of him struggled not to get a face full of my neighbour’s boobs. Sri Lankan buses are perhaps life’s great equaliser: no one disembarks a full bus with their dignity still entirely intact. The interesting part is the complete absence of frustration or impatience with the circumstances; they accept the situation for what it is and deal with it. There’s a life lesson in there somewhere, but I was still thankful that our next two buses got progressively less crowded.
Our home base in Tangalle was called Dishari Tangalle, where we were hosted by Rasika and his wife, Dishari. Rasika could not have been more hospitable: we were greeted with marigold blooms and juice; our room was brand new and featured a bathroom big enough for dance parties; breakfasts offered opportunities to try new Sri Lankan dishes (milk rice! potato curry! seeni sambol!) and were so large that we struggled to finish them – in fact, I don’t think we ever succeeded. When I asked if he knew the going price for rambutan, he said he would find out… and the following day, proceeded to present me with a bag full of my favourite hairy red fruit. Rasika was so attentive, I imagined that a disembodied hand might shoot out from the house to offer a tissue if either of us sneezed.
Having a base in the city itself meant we got a sense of life’s rhythms in Tangalle: when the school run happened, when rush hour calmed, when the fishermen were heading back from their day on the water, when we could expect to see residents heading home for dinner. A walk to the beach revealed beautiful stretches of sand that we happily took advantage of, but faced with the crashing waves and beach huts, it often felt like we could be anywhere in the world. Our room at Dishari was the perfect way to ground ourselves in our location.
After some long walks along the beach strips to get a sense of what was around us, we fell into a rhythm of morning runs; becoming accidental fishermen as we helped the locals bring in their nets each morning; lazy afternoons where the toughest decision was which direction to head for more quiet beachfront; late afternoon market visits to grab a beer and what I began referring to as “crispy snacks” (dhal vade, crispy lentils, and garlic fried in ulundu vade batter) which we’d then eat on our little patio at Dishari; and then deciding which new friends to go see for dinner. We had wonderful meals in Tangalle – some of the best of the trip – served by owners who seemed ready to hug us on our way out. We also had one fish dinner that didn’t help to convince me that I wanted another, so dry and bland was it that it made me wonder how the restaurant had been in operation since the year after the tsunami.
We learned that Silent Beach is anything but, courtesy of savagely crashing waves, and it’s a great people watching spot; we learned that Russian tourism is taking over the south coast; and I learned that pineapple roti with lunumiris (a fiery, savoury sambol made with shallots, chilli flakes, lime juice, salt and dried fish) and jaggery syrup makes the best snack – even if the order confuses the server.
One morning, we stopped for a cheap coffee (that also tasted like cheap coffee, unfortunately) and got chatting with the owner about where we’d been and where we were heading. Our original plan was Unawatuna, thinking it was close enough to Galle and also near the busy beaches, but might keep us just outside of them. Jaga suggested we consider Talpe, so we looked it up, saw that it was immediately beside Una, and booked a spot there for the following night. I had a couple of hotel visits to do for work and we’d be about equidistant from each, so it was perfect.
The connection from Tangalle to Talpe was an uncomplicated one, but it did come with one unexpected surprise: a karaoke singer! Thankfully, Mr Summer Teeth (as in, “some are there, and some are not”) didn’t stick around for the entire journey AND we arrived at our lodge only to discover that it was actually more beautiful than it appeared in the photos! Our room was massive, we had the use of a fridge, and there was a seating area that included a whole sectional couch – a novelty we hadn’t seen since arriving in Lanka. There isn’t much difference between Unawatuna and Talpe; one becomes the other in the space of a few minutes along the main beach road, but we were well-situated between a few places and were happy with our base for a few nights.
Talpe offered more of the same south coast hedonism: beautiful beaches, great seafood, plenty of sun and a year’s worth of humidity. We even had oysters that beat the pants off anything we’ve ever had at home.
It also revealed a more unpleasant reality about the developing tourism industry in Sri Lanka. Since Talpe lies along a string of popular beaches that are easily accessible from Colombo, many people come just for a beach holiday and pay no attention to local customs or culture. In our experience, this is never more evident than in what people choose to wear on the beach and moving to and from the beach.
Perhaps I’m old fashioned, but when visiting a highly conservative country with large Buddhist and Muslim populations, maybe leave the cheeky bikini bottoms and thongs at home and put your shirt on when you leave the beach, eh? Clearly, I’m not the only one thinking this, since we passed a particularly official-looking sign on the roadside asking people to please be dressed while walking through town.
One day while walking back to our lodge, I took a lesson from my experience with the banana vendor in Haputale, and paused when I passed an older gentleman holding a baby. His face was so filled with character and the baby was gorgeous, so I asked if I could make a photo of them together. When I showed him the results, he took me by the wrist, led me through a gate across the road and began speaking rapidly in Sinhala and a little bit of broken English. It became clear that this was his family and he was especially keen for me to meet them. Rich and I were led to a couch, and offered fresh juice and mung bean sweets by one of the men, who spoke remarkably good English. It seemed like there were an awful lot of people there, and we soon learned from our new companion that this is a special time for them: the family is building a new home so that they can rent out their current one, and when a Buddhist family builds a home, everyone in the family gathers for a series of special ceremonies. He was home visiting from Austria, where he works as a chef. As a gesture of thanks for the sweets (which were a gesture of thanks for the photo?), I asked if any family would like some portraits and proceeded to do a mini session for the women and girls who expressed interest, then got them edited and sent out to them later that evening. We made sure to wave to our neighbours every time we passed by and kept a curious eye on the construction project until we left town.
We had some seriously great meals in Tangalle, but I don’t think either of us were prepared for how amazing the food would be at this little spot called Turtle Restaurant. Part of a homestay, it’s a ground-level, through-the-garage spot that was so unassuming that we wondered if it was going to be a good choice. You’d think we’d know better by now…
Ajit and his wife happily greeted us and were very excited when we told them we like spicy food (“Ooooh! Spicy!”), and then proceeded to blow my mind with the most perfect prawns I’ve possibly ever had. We practically applauded – actually, I may have literally applauded.
Since they were clearly phenomenal cooks, we decided to find out more. The following day, I sent Ajit a message and asked what his wife’s favourite food to cook is, and said we’d like to have that the following day (restaurants sometimes benefit from a day’s notice in Lanka because it means they can buy specific seafood at the morning market). Ajit replied and said, “Okay, you’ll have fish.” We had to put all our trust in him and his wife to prepare fish with the same expertise as the prawns, rather than what we’d had in Tangalle. We went for unexpectedly incredible Thai food that night (thanks, Wayside Thai!), then looked forward to fish the following day.
We spent our last full day in Talpe going for the least Sri Lankan breakfast we’d had, then spent an afternoon in the sun. I began feeling especially queasy after downing some water prior to leaving the beach, but we made our way back to a little nook we’d found that offered beautiful sunset views and surfing sea turtles, and I tried to set aside my feeling that something was awry. Walking towards our fish dinner, I felt no better. Got seated; started to feel even more green. The Russian woman at the table beside me lit up a cigarette (I have no sense of smell, except for cigarette smoke), and I bolted from the table. Turns out, something was most definitely awry. Had we not made a special order, I likely would’ve bailed on dinner, but I plastered on a smile, tried to ignore the cold sweat and goosebumps, and put my tush back in my chair.
The fish was worth it. Oh. My. Goodness. Red snapper that was cooked so perfectly it was practically like butter. I only ate about ¼ of a portion, but it was worth the barf-and-rally effort – and Rich was far from disappointed to have to eat the remainder of my share. We thanked Ajit and his wife profusely, then got a surprise offer of a ride home, which I gratefully accepted with (very literally) weak knees.
We had a train booked for the following morning, so wished Ajit well at our property gate and went to bed knowing we’d met some truly genuine people who put their heart into their business.
Grateful for: Western toilets