Picture a wildlife documentary crew: stealthy, covert preparation, patient months waiting for that one shot and a cocoon of silence to woo natures magnificence.  Now picture a murky lake, Brians got the camera poised to shoot a monster of a croc, mouth gaping, teeth like a row of pearly miniature pyramids, photographic gold! And then… the magical silence is shattered by a shriek of Elle Woods calibre. Without even realising it had past my lips, the jubilation was out, the croc dived and the photo of a picturesque lake with a couple of ripples on the surface could have been taken on Hampstead Heath.  Lesson 1 in observing wildlife: Less Elle Woods more Ray Mears.

Lake and no croc…maybe a slight stretch for a Hampstead Heath lookalike

It was a struggle leaving the laid back loveliness of Aragum Bay and our blessed tree hut.  As always, an extra day recovery would have been sensible but we were on the road post 2 days R&R.  We’d read the Island got flatter to the North but after the undulating roads of the South Coast and be-jewelled mountain rain forests, we hadn’t quite expected the level horizon that flatlined to meet us.  At first Brian was reminded of his childhood days in Africa; a mixture of open plains, water buffalo and marshlands.  It soon made way to a gruelling flash back of the Bavarian plains in Southern Germany, flat as a road kill badger and we even got a head wind to boot.

African plains SL style

The diversity of the East stretches beyond the wildlife and people with the multiple faiths of the Island joining the mix.  Our recent journey bought back the familiar call to prayer and the landscape has become a blotted canvas for the diverse temples and shrines.  From the serene white stupa domes of the Buddhists to the mosques, churches and towering caricatured shrines of the Hindus.  Scratch a little deeper and this island keeps on giving.

Hindu magic

There’s room for everyone on the Hindu temples

With the headwinds behind us we turned off the coast into the lagoon town of Batticaloa and  what a warm buttery slice of heaven awaited.  A relaxed city built around and over three massive natural lagoons.  When you read about Sri Lankas past you realise quite a few colonial hard hitters have had a nibble. From the Portugese to the Dutch and most latterly, the British.  Each occupier leaving it’s mark and influence.  Batticaloa, like many of the islands coastal cities, has a Portugese fort at its heart.  What was special though was that it also comes with the beautiful Dutch colonial houses and river ways and British waterside promenades.  A wonderful melting pot and a hidden treasure our guide-book had not really bought to life.

Batticaloa. A warm buttery slice of heaven

On leaving Batticaloa we met a breathtaking B road that bought us along a deserted coastline, bar the local fishermen, for around 30 miles. Rolling through it was a privilege to get a view into what seemed to be a very untouched part of the Island.  As is the way in such a small yet densely populated place, we were no sooner off the paradise road and back to a more touristy spot, Kalkudah. With it being off-season in the East, it was a treat to have the white sand beaches to ourselves.  Coincindentally we were stopped to do some interviews with a few local Tourist degree students, who advised us that the ‘off’ season won’t be around for long.  It seems the whole of Sri Lanka is up for development. Perhaps a downside of perceived progress.

Fisherman dragging their catch in from the beach

Empty eastern beaches

The next couple of days delivered us into the jaws of some seriously functional cycling.  The head winds are coming at you. The roads are rising up and down just enough to call it hilly and the 2 inch tyres we’ve fitted for the more adventurous cycling, have all the traction of a quadriplegic hippo.  For anyone who’s done any distance cycling or running you’ll know at times like this its mind over matter.  Cycle touring is as psychological as it is physical and with the help of Brians music solution we got our heads down and churned out some 60 mile days.

Our next port of call was Trincomale and after the burn on the bikes we were looking forward to a rest day.  Through the obligatory accomodation hunt we stumbled across the very accommodating Dr Rajmohan who gave us a room in his house with a roof terrace that you could literally lick the waves from.  Mary, Brians Mother, will be pleased to hear we only drink once a week tops whilst on the road. Budget and mixing crusty hangovers with exercise being the limiting factors.  So we sipped our weekly tipples, forced ourselves to sit still and let our bodies recovery before the final push to the islands most northern City, Jaffna.

Licking the waves from our ramshackle terrace in Trincomale

Bums in saddles for 3 more days of functional peddling and we arrived.  Although the roads can be a little mind numbing and slip you into a commatos’d/meditative state, you are always treated to the sparkles of wildlife that keep you joy’d up.  Lurking Crocs, soaring sea eagles and playful otters abound. Not to mention the mobile shrines and ominous signs painted on the walls of the local schools, fear is evidently a tried and tested approach here. And if all else fails, the thought of where your next delicious mountain of carbs is coming from is sure to keep the good legs rolling.

Faith on wheels, mobile shrines

A good dose of fear for the school kids. Nothing says it quite like a gun in your mouth

Beautiful beasts

Jaffna itself is a stark reminder of Sri Lankas civil war, having only come to a violent end in May 2009.  A lot of the buildings are pot marked with bullets holes or completely flattened.  The government has even taken to putting up bill boards in front of ruined sites as a warning and reminder to the people as to what they should aspire to avoid in the future.  There is a charm and energy to the place of its own though.  Not least by the multitude of cyclists that adorn her streets.  Wrought iron bikes that squeak and glide along painting another layer to her Dutch colonial past.

It does what it says on the tin

Anyone for a dutch ride?

As we’ve journeyed deeper through the side of the Island our guidebooks spoke down at this time of year (due to it being monsoon season) we stumble across gems of cities and glimpses into the past we didn’t expect.  This unwritten magic and discovery is what makes the trip what it is.  It colours in the gaps of a ‘guide’, which we’re seeing more often as a solid framework or foundation to get the juices flowing.

Lots of things in our world are intrinsically bound by a framework. The books and movies we watch and read follow a given number of plots.  Marketing and advertising campaigns play into certain formulas aligned to target customers. Even our lives to an extent follow a pattern.  But what makes all of these unique, brilliant and memorable is the nuances in colouring in the gaps that we do ourselves, the personalities that are created and the stories that are, and will be told.  My Uncle passed away suddenly a fortnight ago, 62, no warning, here one minute and gone the next.  What I’ll remember about his story is the moments of mischief, being off script and not sticking so rigidly to a formula.  In the words of my grandfather, he was a lovable rogue.

So, get off the beaten track, smile, be naughty…and nice, be full of love, ask questions and don’t ever stop. Because who knows what’s around the corner.

Keeping it on the wild side

Tommy and Brian

x

P.S. We’ve updated our itinerary, here, for anyone who fancies a squizz or planning a trip to join us en route 🙂 As ever it’s a movable feast.