The Longest Day

When we got back from visiting Nuwara Eliya, Lankesh asked me to be ready at 8:30 the next morning because we had a long drive to get to our next destination, Galle. “And the first part of the road will be bad, Mum.”
At the appointed time, I said goodbye to Nuwara Eliya



and the horses out for their morning gallop



and we set off for a very slow drive down the mountain. Not only was the road twisty and unpaved but it was under construction. Every so often we were stopped by a workman directing traffic in the one remaining lane.
I had plenty of time to admire the terrace farms. (This area is the market garden of Sri Lanka growing vegetables -- potatoes, carrots, cabbage, leeks, beets -- and flowers for local use and export.)



and to be thankful I had never had a job as a fern carrier.



I wondered if this bad road was ever going to end.
Two hours later we reached a paved road at last and, soon after, the town of Bandarawela. Lankesh drove up a hill to a hotel that used to be a British rugby club where I was glad to sit on the terrace sipping tea and look out over the town



before we continued our journey.
I tried to interest myself in the scenery but it was all beginning to look very familiar.



Lankesh turned on the car radio to a station that played a mixture of Sri Lankan music and English pop music from the 60s and we continued driving.
At lunch time he stopped at a tourist hotel whose name I didn’t even see. I had a quick lunch and provided some amusement to some Sri Lankan kids who were getting tired of waiting for their parents to finish their meal.



Then we were off again. Lankesh was right. This was a long drive. And it was far from over. My attention began to wander except when I saw something unusual – such as the cushion vendors



replacing the ubiquitous fruit and vegetable vendors along one stretch of road. Lankesh explained that the cushions were handmade and a specialty of this area.
My eyes closed. Lankesh drove. The radio played.
At last we were at the coast. The fishermen were in with their catch.



Some were selling by the side of the road.



Some, apparently just had to wait for their customers to come to them.



We continued driving and saw some of the area’s traditional stilt fishermen.



once again waiting precariously for their catch. They completely disappeared after the tsunami of 2004, so I’m glad they’re back.
I was tired and the sun had nearly set when we pulled up at last to the hotel.
How far had we travelled, I asked.
The answer?
119 kms (74 miles)!