After our guesthouse owner's wife Joan scared me into thinking Chris had Dengue Fever, the first stop this morning was going to be a medical clinic of some kind. Both the Lonely Planet and one of the staff members of our guesthouse sent us to St Joseph's Medical Clinic, just down the road. A Sister was called to come and speak with us but insisted we come back once the doctor had arrived. All she was willing to prescribe was a herbal tonic. We moved on and headed towards Trincomalee on the lookout for the medical clinic Joan had suggested. With no luck we ended up at Trincomalee District Hospital, along with about 100 other sick, poor Trincomalee folk. As we didn't want to spend my birthday sitting in a hospital waiting room we asked the staff whether there was a private clinic we could go to. Instead of answering us, they hustled Chris to the front of the queue and we were in to see an English speaking doctor within five minutes. Mind you, we had to share the room with another doctor and his patients but hey, at least we weren't one of the many people still waiting to give their name and age just to get a number and wait in another queue. Feeling slightly bad for jumping the line, but happy to have some new drugs (free of charge) and a diagnosis that Chris' mouth sores were probably from the spicy food.
Back at our guesthouse, we indulged in an English fry up, Sri Lanka style, including fried banana. We once again geared up, Chris adding a scarf to his get up which he wrapped around is head to protect his lip from the elements. Combined with the hood, helmet and sunnies, he looked pretty badass. Until you spied the butterflies that embellish the sarong. (Thanks for the sarong Mum. It's finding even more uses than anticipated. Where will its versatility end?) Then, aboard the bike we got, planing to go as far South as possible...Probably Batticaloa, about 120km. Considering it took us an hour in the rain to find our way through Trincomalee and onto the A15, we crossed our fingers we'd have more luck as the day progressed.
This morning's ride was military focused. We passed soooo many men with guns. So many checkpoints. So many army bases, airforce bases and naval bases. It seemed as though they were around every corner. We questioned what they were possibly doing now the war is over and considering they are seemingly situated in the middle of nowhere.
Between Trincomalee and Batticaloa, there isn't much but peacocks, cows and puppies. Sadly, Chris still wouldn't let me take a puppy off the street to keep despite it being my birthday. And its funny how seeing peacocks by the road and cows being herded down the beach and along the road has become some strange version of normal. Somehow, Chris won the battle with the coastal winds that belted us and managed to keep the bike going in straight line.
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| Lauren all dressed up for her birthday lunch |
As we approached Batticaloa the puddles on the road seemed to grow and grow until finally they were lakes that covered the road and penetrated people's homes and shops. Almost a foot deep in places, we slowed to a crawl and tried to follow the tracks made my the trucks in front of us in some kind of vague attempt of minima listing the water in Chris' bag which was strapped to the side of the bike. I don't think ever seen so much water. Even when the road wasn't covered, the land to either side had been turned into vast wetlands. It's difficult to know whether this is unusual or simply an annual occurrence thanks to the monsoon.
Once through Batticaloa, we made the decision to continue pushing South as there were still some hours left in the day. We stopped briefly in Kalmunai to grab 60 LKR worth of snacks. As I entered the Muslim-run shop and shooed the flies from the food cabinet, I got some stares which made me think it'd been a while since a white girl stepped foot in their shop. Further down the road we found shelter and ate our snacks while a man struggled to ride his motorbike with one hand while he nursed his sleeping baby with the other. We crossed our fingers that the surprise meat inside the dirt cheap samosas wouldn't make me sick. Chris stuck with the sweet cupcakes as he tried his very hardest to avoid spice. This will end up proving more difficult than imagined.
We rode and rode and rode and it rained and rained and rained and then finally eased after lunch. With dark clouds looking behind us and the promise of blue skies ahead we continued South. As we approached Pottuvil, the sky had streaks of blue across it and our spirits were lifting as we knew Pottuvil was only 3km North of our destination. We could see the sign for Pottuvil in the distance when, of course, the police spotted us and pulled us over. First, they told Chris to turn the headlight off. Apparently trying to be seen on a foggy, overcast day is not ok here. They then wanted his license. Thankfully, they were content with seeing his Aussie one and didn't make us unstrap and search through his big bag. They did however insist on passing around his license and chatting about it for a good five minutes before handing it back. Finally, we were allowed to go, unsure as to why we had been pulled over in the first place. This encounter with the police was a far cry from the friendly one we had earlier in the day. They had waved at us to keep going but we mistook it for a 'come here' wave. Not surprisingly, they looked at us funny when we pulled up beside them. They asked where we were going, where we were from and then head wobbled us forward. This second encounter had included far less friendly head wobbling. Regardless, we were back on the road and approaching Arugam Bay.
As we rode, a man pulled up beside us, removed his helmet and asked if we were looking for a room. As we indeed were, we followed him to his guesthouse but ended up settling elsewhere. With so many guesthouses to choose from our decision was tough. After a long day of riding, we settled on the second place from which the owner beckoned us to come inside just as the sun set. Paradise Inn.
Courtesy of Paradise Inn's wifi I received birthday messages which bought a tear to my eye. The photo of Mum, Pete and Charlie was the best present I could have hoped for.
Pete wouldn't recognise Arugam Bay. The number of guesthouses is excessive. While currently the guesthouses seems to outnumber the tourists, it suggests that in peak times, when the surf was up, this place would do a pretty good impression of Unawatuna or any other seaside resort town.
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| Chris and his dinner |
Dinner at Green Room as promised the food was "fresh" which is rare here. So fresh that they apparently didn't even have the ingredients yet. After we ordered, they ran out three separate times to grab things they needed to cook up our feast. Again, we're getting way too used to being able to order whatever we desire and have people run around to cook it up for us. It may take them an hour, but they get there. Even if every time I looked in the kitchen they were eating rather than cooking and our noses were working overtime trying to catch the scent of dinner being started, it was a lovely birthday dinner.
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| Birthday curries |
We drifted off to sleep to the sounds of the ocean. NOT! Arugam Bay's dumpy monsoonal waves are not as peaceful as one may imagine. Infact, the volume of the waves prompted me to I question Chris on the likelihood of a tsunami approaching while we slept. I made a mental note of where I had seen the "tsunami evacuation route" signs as we rode into town.
Seven hours on the bike equals our biggest day of kilometres yet (250-ish) and our sorest bums yet. We have a habit of reaching our destination, in this case Batticaloa and saying, "yeah...we can totally make it to th next town." And so it goes on and on. I wonder what tomorrow will bring.
Tuk Tuk wisdom: "All that glitters is not gold" and "Still waters run deep"
Sri Lankan kilometres accumulated to date: 1518km
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