and we stopped for a cold drink.
Unfortunately that’s not so easy.
Most Sri Lankan country stores (and
there are thousands of them) have
a refrigerator. But it’s usually turned
right down, presumably to save
electricity, so cold drinks are
actually more like cool-ish or
lukewarm drinks.
But then the jig was up. I noticed
the cops by the side of the road
with their standard Yamaha 600cc
police bike, waiting in the shade of
a couple of trees. They were not
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one of them stepped into the sun
and held up his hand to stop me. I
had been warned not to hand over
any original documents, so when he
asked me for my driver’s licence I
pulled a photocopy from my tank
bag. Unfortunately I had not counted
on the rain we’d had; the once neat
copy was now a seriously tatty piece
of half-dissolved damp paper. To
his credit, the policeman took it and
peered at it quizzically before asking
for the original. I told him that it,
and my passport, were “back in the
hotel”. He shook his head and waved
Rohan and me on.
Next came the famous eighteen
hairpins of Mahiyangana which took
us back up into the highlands. This
road would stand comparison with
any mountain road in the world,
with one reservation: you’re likely to
encounter a tuk-tuk, a car or even
a bus coming the other way on the
wrong side of the road. That can
be... disturbing when you’re leaned
right over and scrabbling for traction
among the light dusting of gravel.
KANDY MAN
Kandy, the beautiful old city in the
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any other Sri Lankan town or city,
but somehow it all seems more
relaxed. It may have been helped
by the hotel where I was staying;
another of Rohan’s school friends
owns and runs the Mahaweli Reach
Hotel, which is a wonderful place
to relax from the busy-ness outside.
Overlooking the river after which