Monday, January 6, 2020

Ella

Our trip to the tea country of Sri Lanka was off to an inauspicious start when Clementine and I got locked in the master bedroom about 30 minutes before we were to hit the road. I'm not exactly sure how it happened. I closed the door and the next thing I knew the bolt was stuck in the door frame.

Realizing there was going to be no quick escape by traditional means. Clementine and I were forced to evacuate over the balcony, throwing all the bags over the edge and down to the first floor.


We were traveling with friends who were in town for the holidays, visiting from Jordan.  Because there were nine of us, we ended up renting a van and driver to take half of our party.  The driver, Kelly, pictured above helping Clementine down from the locked room, suggested we take the scenic route through the mountains, driving past Kandy and through Nuwara Eliya, rather than the route I had mapped on Google. I had never driven to this part of Sri Lanka before, so I deferred to Kelly.  I should have known better. Never trust anyone with red-stained teeth. Kelly chewed betel. 

Betel leaf comes from an Asian evergreen climbing plant and is used in Asia as a mild stimulant. Parings of areca nut, lime, and cinnamon are wrapped in the leaf -- tobacco, too, sometimes -- which is then chewed, causing the saliva to go red and, with prolonged use, the teeth to go black.  The in-betweens of his teeth were stained maroon, and as we followed him around the winding mountain passes of the interior of Sri Lanka, a string of thick red spittle intermittently ejected itself from the driver side window. 

The scenic route was, indeed, beautiful, but turned an already long six-hour drive into an excruciating nine-hour slog.  Though Sri Lanka is about the size of West Virginia, there are no interstates and few divided highways.  The entire country is connected by a web of two-lane roads filled with tuk-tuks, bicycles, tractors, stray dogs, water buffalo, and women in bright chartreuse and violet saris walking four abreast under matching parasols. 

Clementine rode in the van for awhile before succumbing to two separate bouts of car sickness.  Peter threw up once. The winding mountain roads forced us to drive slow and cautiously.  

Exhausted by trying to keep up with Kelly, we stopped for pastries and Nescafe near a waterfall outside of the alpine village if Nuwara Eliya.  The boys devoured the entire contents of the glass display case, sausages wrapped in fluffy bread, tea buns, and cakes.  We listened to music with the windows down, ostensibly to keep the car sickness at bay, also enjoying the cool, thin mountain air.  We listened to a podcast about George Lucas and Steven Spielberg's early years making Jaws, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and Star Wars.  Young Tamil boys ran alongside our car trying to sell us flowers.  One was successful, a dedicated young sprinter who caught us on the switchback of a mountain pass by clambering over and through the dense vegetation, bouquet in hand.  

Elise wrote on Instagram: "The kids play this game on long car rides where they create an imaginary elfin character who jumps along from car to car as we drive, to pass he time.  Sometimes, I try to see what they still see and it certainly wasn't hard as we made our way to Ella. I imagined them sending her leaping from tuk to bus, through the villages of Sri Lanka.  Cartwheeling upon the lazy, low morning clouds and swinging from palm to palm over waking farms, on beams of filtered morning light.  She'd pounce gently on tufted tea shrubs to reach the terraced tippy-tops of the island.  In the end, she'd gently washed her hands in the river pool before they set her free into the trees." 

Free from our tether to Kelly and the van, we followed Google Maps, our instincts, and a prayer over hills, through tea plantations, and forests of towering eucalyptus trees. At one point, a cow blocked the one-lane narrow path.  Calling it a road would be a disservice to actual roads.  

We arrived at our destination, Ravana's Secret just outside Ella close to 5:00 p.m., tea time. We took tea and sweet breads on the patio with a view of Ella Gap and the darkening sky.


Ravana's Secret, named after the nearby Ravana Falls, ended up being a diamond in the rough. I had desperately searched the internet for a holiday getaway in tea country only to find most places booked.  Ravana's Secret had a vacancy, so based on a few grainy pictures I found on the internet and mostly positive reviews, I booked it. 


Our bungalow at Ravana's Secret.


The view from the bungalow, overlooking the valley.


The main lodge. 

Anne, Ravana's Secret's real secret, was our host.  She oversaw the serving of tea, breakfast, and dinner and shared with us the virtues of her mountain home, including the two hornbills, Henry and Henrietta, who perched just outside the breakfast room, giant squirrels that looked like lemurs, monkeys, and small mountain deer, the kind you see in small pens at the entrances of zoos, with white spots and small horns, animals that are often overlooked in the rush to the elephants, giraffes, lions, and pandas. 

The late tea would be followed shortly by dinner.  Clementine was done.  Exhausted by the drive, she was asleep in our bungalow a short five minute walk through the jungle amid fireflies in the tops of the palms overhead, under her mosquito net, by seven.  Given the bungalows distance from the main lodge and eating room, I decided to stay back with her.  Anne, particularly, expressed concern.  "What about your supper?" she would ask in her British patois.  The last person I heard call the evening meal 'supper' was my mom, so Anne had immediately endeared herself to me. 

Though I was not able to come down to dinner, Anne made certain I would not go hungry. While Clementine slept, I had chicken curry and rice from a giant metal tiffin. 

The next day, was Peter's 10th birthday! 



After the birthday breakfast, we were going to meet a co-worker who happened to be staying across the valley for a tour of Alba, an organic tea plantation, and lunch, followed by a plunge into a nearby swimming hole. 

We hiked to Amba. It was about a 20 to 30 minute hike across the valley.  The kids were super stressed out because of the possibility their may be leeches along the way, but Anne supplied us with a special oil we rubbed between our toes, on the soles of our feet, and around our ankles to keep them at bay.  Nonetheless, all five kids high-kneed it through the tall grass as fast as they could. 



When we got to the bottom of the valley, we had to cross the river and the rapids.  The only way to do that was a suspension bridge stretching from one bank to the next, sagging in the middle, Indian Jones style, mere feet above the raging torrent below. 




After we crossed the suspension bridge, it was a short walk to the tea plantation.  We arrived at the start of the short presentation before the tour.  After the tour, we would all take part in a tea tasting.  It was -- by far -- the most tea myself or any of the kids had ever drank!




The view of Ella Rock from Amba. 


Pete made a friend. 


Sam with his friend, Tenzing, from school, learning about how tea is made. 


After the tea tasting, we had lunch at Amba. Then, it was time to head back across the valley, stopping at the river to swim. 

Sam had a huge meltdown as we were leaving the tea plantation.  He absolutely refused to walk back across the valley for fear of leeches. He was irrationally frightened.  Elise and I finally just walked away and left him at Amba. A few minutes later, he tearfully followed us after we had compromised by telling him we wouldn't hike all the way back to Ravana's Secret; instead, we would hike back up to Amba and take a tuk-tuk around the valley.  We didn't end up having to do that...and Sam later apologized for his outburst (a display which included him yelling "Paul!" at me across the tea plantation).


The swimming hole was the main reason Sam's tune changed to dramatically. 

Looking back on it now, and thinking of it from the kids' perspective, there really is nothing more magical than tromping through the jungle only to come upon a watering hole, stripping down to your swim trunks, and plunging off a cliff into a frigid river, moments that can neither be planned nor forecast, a true gift. 



The day ended with fish curry, beer, singing, and a birthday cake.  I hope Pete had a good birthday. 


The birthday boy. 

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