We basically had to jump over the gate to get out of our Mount Lavinia digs as the gatekeeper had not awakened for the day. It was all rather wild, spilling into the still just dawning streets with our kankens frantically hailing the first tuk tuk for the train station and roaring up the coastal road towards the galle green and harbour like maniacs. It was early enough to be pleasant but already the press of humidity was present. It was a good day to flee for the mountains.
Sadly as is more often the case than not the observation car unchanged since the latter 19th century by the looks of it was sold out. We opted to set aside the edwardian train fantasies in favour of the uninspired airconditioned car with its sad foggy windows. D promptly feel asleep after dispiritedly poking at some kind of onion bun and I settled down to watch the world whirl by. The coast gave way before the most verdant mountains I've seen anywhere. The journey is a brisk 3 hours and with a thrill I saw a lone elephant flapping its ears at the edge of a rice field about an hour in.
By any standards you would be hard pressed to call Kandy a city, although it is one of the larger clusters of urbanity in the country. The haphazard planning and lack of a clearly defined centre is disorientating for me. The cities here are long and built up narrowly along roadsides, lacking defined centre points. Walking is simply not done, the tuk tuk drivers look pained when foreigners walk. Already the air is cooler.
We dropped our bags, I was delighted to see a vast selection of PG Wodehouse on the shelves. Our bubbly concierge immediately shuffled us out the door with another driver. Her favourite colour is turquoise, which she donned copiously our entire stay and her name unpronounceable. We had a slight disconnect with our driver when he tried to feed us KFC for lunch, but he very patiently tolerated us the entire day and well past his bedtime. We saw colour changing wood carvings (made from rainbow wood which reacts to various chemical exposures), the magnificent botanical gardens, a boring giant white buddha, and the massive sacred tooth temple complex where we somehow unwittingly acquired an ambiguous guide. I was rather under the impression that he was a stalker until he demanded payment. I regret it because I would have been interested to take in the site without a stranger babbling in my nearby vicinity in some unrecognizable english pidgin.
Exhausted we made our way to Helga's Folly and were assaulted by the spectacle. I suggest that anyone with a seizure disorder or a fear of clashing colours avoid the space entirely by daylight. I very much appreciated the whiskey soda and giant colouring book though (i do mean giant, I'm pretty sure I could have used that thing as a tent were I so inclined). The atmosphere was expatty but who can say no to whiskey soda and giant colouring books? The gramophone was going with some choice tunes. We did stay for a serene terrace dinner, and while the staff could not have been more lovely and attentive the fare was not good. Apparently it has come to the attention of the chef via TripAdvisor reviews and he has taken it very personally. I personally do not feel that it is his fault, but rather a country-wide phenomenon where chicken is the one dish that stumps the nation. Don't order the chicken folks. The evening was soundly rounded off by an appearance by Helga herself who wafted in wearing a kimono, a neck brace, and some spectacular vintage acetate sunglasses and chatted to us in a dying breed of King's English about her swimming pool and movie theatre.
