The journey back

The day before we had asked Srath to take us to Hambantota to do some shopping. We wanted to spend a quiet day without too much car after the two recent days and that of the return to come. After a little walk in the streets of Hambantota where we felt like being the only tourists, we went to have lunch at the restaurant of the Peacock hotel where a congress of hot air balloons was taking place. The afternoon allowed us to benefit from the beautiful garden of our hotel.

The next day morning, we get up at 6.30 am so that we can dawdle for breakfast before going to Colombo. We have a 6 hours’ trip again; the return journey is just like the journey there, that is to say 50 km/h on the A2 motorway. Srath suggests us doing various things to enliven our journey. We successively refuse a visit by boat, duration one hour, a detour to a gift shop, a stop in the sanctuary of turtles. After exhausting all his ideas, Srath proposes an “ayurvédic” massage. Lydie is ready to refuse this final attempt when I answer before her: “Yes, I feel like a massage! Moreover it will do me the greater good before spending ten hours in a plane!” When arriving in Colombo, we wander for a few minutes, the time for Srath to find his way again, then we eventually reach the specialized salon. The atmosphere is muffled, the decoration carefully chosen. In the “menu” I’m held out I choose a body massage with an herb-scented oil. The session usually lasts 90 minutes but I get a little discount for a duration of one hour (we have a plane to take all the same). I go upstairs where a masseuse wearing a sari is waiting for me, she makes me enter a lounge, equipped with two massage tables. The quiet hum of the air conditioning has replaced the music broadcast at the ground floor, too bad. The masseuse gives me boxer shorts and a towel and slips away the time I change my clothes. How can I explain the word “ayurvédic” when associated to the word massage? In fact it’s probably a synonym of the words sporting, energetic, dynamic and intense. It’s a mix of all that. It starts with a burning towel rubbed on the sole to end with a traction of the hair which has been previously oiled. Between the two, each muscle and I would even say each bone is massaged, made supple by powerful hands and strong fingers. For those who wish a softer massage which takes you to the boarders of sleep, I advise them strongly against the ayurvédic one. It’s impossible to fall asleep when the masseuse pinches each of your toes with at the end a snap because of the hard pressure. In the same way, when she masses you between the toes, I challenge anyone, usually ticklish, not to burst out laughing in the towel! The session ends in a sitting position; it helps recovering. And while I go and have a shower to wash all the oil off my body ( those who imagine a chicken ready to be roasted are not far from the truth) the masseuse goes and gets me a cup of hot tea she puts onto a low table in the lounge. Fortunately I can drink this one. In brief the ayurvédic massage is an interesting and in fact rather pleasant experience. It does much good, but don’t hesitate to tell the masseuse about any sore or pain before she concentrates on this part of your body, because she presses a lot.

We then go to the Cinnamon hotel where our dinner is reserved. Srath takes leave and arranges to see us at 8.00 pm to go to the airport. A weeding is taking place in the hotel on this day and we can see the guests, wearing beautiful clothes and carrying presents. We are very nearly part of the reception for the person in charge of the table plan asks us our names while consulting her list. Our casual European appearances don’t bear comparison with the ceremonial which characterizes the real participants. We eventually find the right restaurant room where a beautiful cosmopolitan buffet is at our disposal. It’s also the occasion to have a last drink before our journey back. At 8.00 pm, Srath comes back in the company of his director with whom we talk about our stay. He even gives us two boxes of tea made in weaved bamboo and a photo frame, “to thank us for our visit in Sri Lanka”. No doubt the sponsorship has played a part for he talked about it to ask us which association we had applied to. Then we go to the airport about 30 kilometres away. It’s therefore the occasion to test Srath’s skills ... for night driving. . After a few hundred metres we must face the evidence: it’s worse than during the day! Horns are still heard but this time they are backed up with headlight flashes. Private buses still have an advantage on public transport concerning the speed. And as if the situation were not bad enough, cyclists ride without light, some of them going the wrong way. We fortunately see less cows and less dogs, they are not stupid! As for the soldiers being there, they are wearing a fluorescent jacket where we can read the letters SL ARMY. We can see them at least!

The farewells with Srath are the occasion of thanking him for this week spent in his company. His help for the translations has been very invaluable, in English more than in French for the Sri Lankans’English accent makes them sometimes difficult to understand. We leave Sri Lanka with five hours behind schedule. The national company could have put a waiting lounge at his 300 passengers’disposal instead of leaving them lie on the floor, without precise information. The plane therefore takes off at 4.45 am to Paris where we arrive under the clouds and with a temperature 25°C lower. Thanks to Pollen Voyage which found us two seats on a Orly-Brest flight on a Friday afternoon (we had missed our connection because of the delay). It’s pleasant after a thirty hours’journey to be able to rely on the agency for this kind of problem.

Thus ended our first trip to Sri Lanka. We’ll keep excellent memories and wonderful pictures of it. If I say “first” trip it’s because we intend to back there one day. I’m sure you guess why...