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.
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