One Egg at a Time

While in Kosgoda, I didn’t just loll on a chaise lounge sipping coconut and pineapple drinks and wondering where the other tourists were. Though I didn’t know it before, Kosgoda Beach is one of the places where 5 endangered species of sea turtles come to lay their eggs.
Eighteen turtle hatcheries along the south coast of Sri Lanka do what they can to protect them. One special one is near my hotel.
The day I arrived, a young man met me on the beach and offered to take me to visit it the next morning. He arrived at the reception desk when I was finishing a long and lazy breakfast. The pleasant lady at the restaurant came to tell me.
“Your tuk tuk is waiting, Mum.”
And off I went.



It’s not easy being a sea turtle. Only 5% of the eggs that hatch are females. Some turtles are born blind or deformed and cannot survive. Numerous healthy babies are eaten by fish or other turtles – including their own mother. And men catch the adults for food or their shells. This has been illegal for years, but it still goes on.
The hatchery I visited is the passion of a Kosgoda fisherman called Chandrasiri Abrew (Chande for short).



He employs 40 local people to help him save as many turtles as possible. Chande belongs to the community, knows all the villagers and pays them for each turtle egg they bring him. He gets this money mainly from tourists like me who visit his hatchery.
My tuk tuk driver and guide explained things to me step by step.

Turtle eggs have squishy shells



so they do not break when the females come ashore and lay them in a hole they dig in the sand.
When eggs are brought to the hatchery, the employees rebury them just as their mother did the first time.



Each nest is marked to show the species of turtle. (OR stands for Olive Ridley, the smallest of the Sri Lankan sea turtles).
The eggs stay in the nest until they hatch. The top layer of eggs hatches in 48 days, the second layer two days later and the bottom layer in 52 days.
The baby turtles are put in tanks. After three days, they look like this.





The three day old turtles are released in the evening onto dry sand near the sea. During their slow journey towards the water, they somehow imprint the sand of this particular area of beach and, should the females survive, they come back to the same place once a year to lay their eggs.

This is the part of Sri Lanka that was devastated by the tsunami in 2004. Chande escaped with one albino turtle he had kept since they cannot live in the wild.



The entire hatchery was destroyed along with much of the village. Though most of the area has been rebuilt now, you can still see small areas here and there that give you a glimpse of the horror.



When Chande and his turtle returned, he set about rebuilding with the help of his tourist friends. He invited them to sponsor a tank. In thanks, he painted their names and country of origin on each one.



Saving endangered species seems a daunting task. But Chande’s doing it one egg at a time. I’m glad we met.

Queen for a Day

Lankesh and I were both looking forward to my next stop. I was going to enjoy the beach at Kosgoda, a small fishing village about 45 km (28 mi.) from Galle. Lankesh, who lives about a half hour’s drive from my hotel, was going to be able to spend that time with his wife and little boy.
We drove up, through a lane filled with tropical vegetation, to an outdoor reception area. Lankesh said goodbye and the bellboy led me between two large fishponds onto a walkway and past the tropical hut which served as a bar. In front of me was a splendid lagoon swimming pool filled with laughing Sri Lankan children whose parents were finishing lunch at the poolside restaurant. Beyond that I could see little chalets like those of my first hotel. Mine had a spacious bedroom, a large bathroom with an “outdoor shower” like the one in Kassapa.



only this one was really connected to outdoors!



I also had a terrace which looked out to the tall grasses which separated the hotel grounds from the beach. What luxury.
Then real life started kicking in. The air conditioning didn’t work. The TV had only Singhalese channels. And worst of all



I knew Sri Lanka had a high season between November and April. Now I found out why. The southwestern part of the Island (where I was) has a monsoon from May to August. Another monsoon blows from October to January in the north and east. I thought I was being clever to pick the month in between but learned that day that the sea is unsettled between monsoons and, as the sign says, there are strong undercurrents which disappear by Christmas. Then, the sign comes down and the tourists are happy.
The air conditioning was fixed; they programmed CNN to my TV. But my swimming would be done in the pool and my relaxing on a chaise lounge.
By this time, the Sri Lankan families had disappeared and I saw two young women by the pool. It was time to make their acquaintance. Charlotte (from London) and Georgia (from Australia) were two friends just starting a reunion holiday together but welcomed me. Soon we were chatting like old friends as we sipped the tropical drinks the pleasant barman was happy to serve.
About dusk, a flow of Sri Lankan families preceded by bellboys with luggage were heading for reception. We looked at each other. Were we the only ones still at the hotel? We separated tor an hour, and then gathered for a poolside dinner.



Only one Sri Lankan family joined us.
But we were served like queens – the staff attentive but not hovering – and enjoyed our tasty (and copious) meal.



I returned to my room wondering if others would be joining me the next day when the two friends were leaving for Galle. At breakfast, the hotel owner, a pleasant young man, educated in England and now running the hotel which belonged to his father, broke the news that the next visitors were expected on Wednesday –- a day after I left. I had not imagined that “travelling by myself” would entail having my own hotel. But, as of Monday afternoon, I shared my tropical splendor with









Since they did not care to swim, I had the pool to myself.



Next time I’ll invite you to join me. Splendid Isolation is so 19th century.

Food for Thought or Vice Versa

Those of you who know me may be surprised that, aside from tantalizing you with the Sri Lankan Airlines menu, I haven’t yet talked about the food. It was not, in fact, a memorable part of my trip, except for one or two meals. This is partly my own fault – or rather the fault of my stomach.
Sri Lankans eat curry morning, noon and night. Curry that is among the world’s hottest. A friend of mine once ordered curry in a Sri Lankan restaurant in London. The waiter tried to dissuade her but she insisted that she “liked spicy food”. At the first bite, tears sprang to her eyes. Though she was unable to finish her meal, her tongue, throat, esophagus and stomach have not yet forgiven her for what she did eat.
I also found the way Sri Lankans eat mesmerizing.Though some use cutlery, many eat with their right hand. With a delicate gesture they mix their curry into their rice with their fingertips before lifting their food to their mouths. I never saw anyone spill anything or wipe their fingers.
Hotels and restaurants serve their visitors modified Western fare – and cutlery! Most serve all three meals buffet style. One evening, I had a discussion with a fellow-tourist about the reason for these ubiquitous buffets. His opinion was that it saved on staff. Since the Sri Lankan economy is still very labor intensive, I wasn’t convinced. I thought it enabled them to hire people who didn’t speak English well enough to interact with Western visitors (many of whom do not themselves speak English as their native language.)
Later, a hotel owner said that the real reason was to cut down on wasted food.
So what do tourists eat in Sri Lanka?
Breakfast starts with something both Sri Lankans and Westerners enjoy – fruit. I had a delicious fruit smoothie and a plate of fruit every morning – bananas, papaya, watermelon, pineapple and others whose names I never learned. Then the Sri Lankans move on to their dhal (lentil curry) and hoppers (very thin pancakes made of rice flour, coconut milk and a dash of palm wine) while the westerners sample whatever version of eggs, “chicken sausage”, “pork bacon” cold cuts, cheese and bread this particular chef has conjured up – often quite tasty and sometimes a little – well – unusual.



At first, I had the buffet for lunch – until I realized that it was almost the same as dinner. So I switched to “short eats” – the local name for sandwiches and snacks. The menu was the same everywhere I went. I alternated between a cheeseburger served with a sort of cole slaw, delicious fries and ketchup and a club sandwich (each one slightly different, according to the chef’s imagination) with the same side dishes.

The salad was always exactly the same no matter where I was. Chefs probably call it “Tourist Salad”.
There was compensation for the slightly mundane fare my lack of spice tolerance imposed – the lunchtime view.





And sometimes I had company.



Lunch and dinner buffets consisted of soups, salads, meats in sauce, several kinds of rice, and boiled vegetables followed by fruit or Sri Lankan sweets – mostly puddings and flans flavored with different fruits, coconut and spices. There were always several kinds of curry -- meat, fish and vegetable -- for the Sri Lankan guests and the adventurous. I did try some from time to time. But I was glad for the less spicy fare, even though it was nearly always the same.
But enough. I’ve finished my club sandwich at the river cruise restaurant. It’s time to discover my next hotel.

On the Delta

Lankesh’s surprise was something not on my itinerary that he thought I’d enjoy. The delta of the Madu Ganga river was nearby – Sri Lanka’s second largest wetland. He knew a place that offered river cruises. Would I be interested? Of course.
It was Sunday and a number of Sri Lankan families had had the same idea. There were not many boats available. But if I wouldn’t mind sharing with some other tourists…..
My fellow passengers were a young Saudi couple – perhaps honeymooners.



The boatman spoke largely in Arabic, throwing me a few words of English from time to time. Fortunately, not many words were needed. It was enough to sit and enjoy.
Our motor boat joined others and we headed through the mangroves





emerging into Maduganga Lake with its twenty-one islands. The larger ones were inhabited by some of the 20 000 people who live on or near the Lake; others only by numerous species of birds.



Some of the villagers were enjoying their Sunday break.





Others were working.
They earn their living fishing



and increasingly, by showing tourists the treasures of the home where they have lived for generations.
We met an unsmiling little boy -- unusual for Sri Lanka -- who hoped for a tip for showing us his monkey.



Then, we came to an area in the middle of the lake where men farmed fish to sell to aquariums.





A young man showed us a baby alligator which, hopefully, was kept well away from the fish.



Then we approached the Kothduwa temple in the river estuary.



Legend says the Buddha’s tooth, now at Kandy, was once hidden here. There are still monks at the temple and our boatman asked if we wanted to stop. The young couple said no and on we chugged.
We did stop at another island where a young man showed us how cinnamon was rolled



and how to plait palm fronds



Afterwards, our boatman took us to another part of the estuary and cut the motor so we could experience the silence that was increasingly absent from the lives of these river-dwellers.



Though the tourists bring another source of income to the villagers, they must sometimes long for the peace of their old way of life.
All too soon, we reached the spot where the river meets the sea



and then it was time to go back to the dock so others could enjoy the beauty of Madu Ganga.

Where's the Fort?

For several days, I’d been told that I was to visit the Fort at Galle. It was across the harbor from my hotel, they said. Do you see it?



Galle, a natural port, was a flourishing international commerce center as early as the 12th century. Persian, Arab, Greek, Roman, Malay, Indian, and Chinese traders came and went, doing business with the local inhabitants.
In the 16th century, the Portuguese arrived. Their purpose was to claim part of the land to use as a trade center and fortify it to keep its former owners out. The Singhalese kings were defeated but unhappy. Having apparently learned the Arab proverb “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” they welcomed the Dutch, when they arrived nearly 60 years later. This turned out badly for the kings. The Dutch, having driven the Portuguese out, built an even stronger fort in Galle. The kings, hopeful if unwise, looked for another European power to force the Dutch out -- their final and greatest mistake. The English were happy to oblige in 1801 – and eventually took over the whole country. They moved into the Fort at Galle, using the solid Dutch structures already there, rather than building their own.
I was expecting to see a European style fortress but soon realized that the Fort at Galle had always been a fortified military and commercial center – a walled city and not a lord’s castle. It’s still a thriving community. The old Dutch buildings are now law courts, shops, restaurants, hotels, museums and homes.







(Lankesh told me I couldn’t take photos of the law court buildings. So I took a photo of the bride instead. Is it my fault if you can see a law court behind her?)



The Dutch Reformed church -- built in 1642 and reconstructed a hundred years later



and the Anglican church built in 1871.



still have Sunday services – in Singalese -- for the descendents of the people they converted to Christianity.
This was a port as the anchors outside the Maritime Museum and the lighthouse remind us.





But where was the sea?
Ah!



The ramparts seemed to be a favorite Sunday walk.



-- though some enjoyed themselves more quietly.


They were not looking out to sea as I thought. They were concentrating on something quite different.



The local cricket club!
I completed my stroll on the ramparts and came back to the car. Lankesh had a surprise for me – about an hour’s drive away, he said. And we were off.