Monday, January 25, 2021

A Horse Named Rocky

Mid-January, an American holiday, MLK day, and a Tamil holiday, Thai Pongal, joined forces to create a much welcome five-day weekend. The kids only had part of the weekend off, so still had to attend online school, despite the fact we moved the virtual classroom to the beaches of Tangalle in the south of Sri Lanka. 

From the moment we arrived until the end of our four-night stay, Elise and I couldn't decide if the place where we stayed, Buckingham Place, was nice. The view of the lagoon from our room and the blue rolling jungle hills beyond was beautiful.  


The rooms were clean and spacious. Bougainvillea flowers decorated the bed, bathroom counter,  tub, and even toilet seat. The infinity pool was long and a deep sparkling blue. A horse named Rocky was tied to a tree in a small patch of grass next to the mangroves. 


The service attentive, the food good. There was a billiards table in the parlor for the kids to gather around after dinner. 


The stretch of beach a short walk away was completely deserted. Long planes of undulating sand disappeared in both directions. We wanted for very little.


And yet, it lacked...something. Charm, maybe? Most of the time we were one of only two parties. Which is exactly what you want in the middle of a pandemic, but it was a little like staying at an abandoned Holiday Inn resort or a convention center. 

Despite the beautiful beachside setting,  the kids were unsettled. Thursday was the Tamil holiday, so the kids were back in school on Friday, and I daringly teleworked from outside Colombo. Friday morning started with a mad scramble for outlet adapters and throwing up hot spots. The hotel's wifi wasn't sufficient to support online school for one kid, much less three, so Peter worked from the hotspot on my work phone, while Clementine worked from the Hotspot on my personal phone. Even when we got set up, they had trouble settling in away from their usual, comfy spots at home. 


The healing tonic to whatever technological challenges we may have faced in the morning was being seconds away from the green sea. Even during the school day, you could almost feel the thunderous waves crashing on the shore. 


A long walk down the beach, an outcropping of rocks jutted into the sea. Waves crashed against it and washed over the rocks, forming tode pools not dissimilar from the ones we explored two summers ago along the Oregon coast. Purple sea urchins posed a beautiful and subtle threat laying quiet repose at the bottoms of the tide pools. Black crabs --  at first invisible against the wet rocks -- picked deep green algae from the rocks with there fore pincers and forked small bitefulls into their mouths. You couldn't at first see the crabs until a small sense of vertigo rolled you when you thought he entire rock surface subtly shifted before your eyes.  It was only then you knew the rocks weren't moving but covered with the camouflaged crabs.

One of the highlights of the trip was the boys fishing together.  Pete caught the biggest fish with a handline. 


The beach was also a nesting ground for sea turtles. One night, we took a guided walk to see one of the mama sea turtles lay their eggs in a nest in the sand. Unfortunately,  the sky was mostly covered with clouds, but the few stars that could shine through were bright. 

The guide had an infrared light so we could see the white turtle eggs plop-plopping out of the mama turtle's tizu. The guide was earnest in his desire I get a good look at the mama laying her eggs and insisted I take a non-socially distanced look at the mama's bum. I told him this wasn't my first rodeo and didn't feel the same need to be this close to a birthing mother.

Saturday, January 23, 2021

Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot

After a magical three nights at Goatfell, we sorrowful departed.  Though our hearts were not heavy for long. For we were returning to Ella, the green mountain hill station that has become nearly as comfortable as our own home. 

Just in time, too, to celebrate Peter turning 11. 

Amba, the working tea plantation where we usually stay, bent over backwards to make Peter feel special.  We spent last New Year's in Ella, too, on the precipice of what we knew would be a momentous and important year, though we wouldn't have dared opine as to how truly momentous and important it would be. Maybe a bit of superstition would have kept us from the green mountains of Ella at the dawn of this new year, but fortunately we are not a superstitious people and not easily scared by bad omens. 

Though that didn't keep us from happily participating in a ritual ceremony, held at an auspicious hour on New Year's Day, to bless the tea fields and in hopes the year will be prosperous and bountiful. 







The ceremony was similar to ones we'd attended in India called a "puja", a Hindu ritual held to commemorate special events.  Most of the Sri Lankans at Amba, however,  are Sinhalese Buddhists, so it was interesting to see how they'd adapted this Hindu ritual. 

An aristocratic -- if not fully British colonial air -- hangs over many Sri Lanka festivities.  This is neither a good or bad thing or a judgement. Perhaps, the crafting of a paper hat from newspaper isn't a British tradition after all, though I came away from the weekend with that impression.  

Despite returning to the same place we brought in 2020, we are looking forward to the new year. Like the song "Auld Lang Syne", a series of rhetorical questions, all amounting to the point that unless you are completely dead inside, you should be able to appreciate the virtues of reconnecting with old friends and thinking about old times.

Polar Bear Plunge

Besides sitting beside the crackling fire, drinking hot cocoa, staying at Goatfell afforded us the opportunity to walk through a working tea field, immersed in the quotidian rhythm of the women picking tea leaves. They, seemingly, spent all day in the field. A row of women could work in silence or could chat in Tamil or Sinhalese or flash quick smiles and stifled giggles at the passing foreigners.

They brought lunch and their own tea with them to the fields, as well as plastic ponchos in case of rain.  




Surprisingly, Goatfell had a swimming pool.  I was the first to brave the chilly waters when Clementine dropped one of her toy to the bottom of the pool. When I asked one of the butlers (yes, Goatfell had butlers. Three of them, to be exact, waiting on us basically hand and foot), if they knew the temperature of the pool water, they replied, "18 degrees." (64 degrees Fahrenheit!)

The following day,  one of the other adults who happened to he at Goatfell the same time we were, Peter and Clem's art teacher, in fact, inspired the kids to take a leap into the freezing pool, a bona-fide polar bear plunge!


The weekend "crew".

Saturday, January 9, 2021

Goatfell

The day after Christmas,  we wound our way along curving mountain roads to the highest point on the island, Nuwara Eliya. There, hidden in the mist, tucked amidst the rolling green tea fields, was a small lodge with a fireplace, couches with blankets, and an endless amount of carols, Goatfell. 

We were in search of cooler weather. To sink into a deep couch in front of a crackling fire with tea or hot chocolate.  An ethereal mist rolled across the hilltop, touching the grass with dew. On one side of the lodge was a perfectly manicured lawn decorated with croquet hoops.  On the other, a stand of majestic cypress trees, guarding a magic, elven glade, containing wishes and dreams, a playground for a child's imagination. The trees were marked with stenciled numbers to keep them safe from illegal forestry. 

The drive from Colombo was long. When we arrived, we were welcomed with tea and coffee and an array of cookies, scones, and biscuits.  




As mentioned,  we arrived on the day after Christmas which we all know well is Sam's birthday.  We had no problem sliding into a festive mood. 



The days were filled with frolicking on the lawn around the lodge, spriting in and out of the enchanted, elfin glade, Elise and I ran through the mist on winding mountain roads; we couldn't see from one bend to the next due to the running through the clouds. 

The kids even tried their hand at croquet (though I debate the 2iadom of giving small children wooden mallets...the grounds keeper will have definitely earned his keep that week).

Sunday, January 3, 2021

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Christmas 2020














Friday, January 1, 2021

Ranta, Baby

Christmas was a much anticipated affair this year. Perhaps, more so than previous, because there has been so few other things to look forward to. 

Elise bought the kids advent calendars this year. The 24 nights before Christmas were tiny holidays in and of themselves. Clementine got a bracelet calendar, and every night when she opened a window she received a new charm for her bracelet. The boys both for Lego calendars with a tiny toy in each window.

They usually opened their windows after dinner. One night, closer to Christmas Eve, Clementine, in her excitement, wrote a letter to Santa and his reindeer. 

When she was done, Peter picked up the pen and wrote a reply from Ranta, the anti-Santa Claus. Ranta wrote in a spooky scrawl like the hand of an withered witch or dripping moss, something right off a Halloween decoration. 

According to Peter, Ranta lives in the South Pole and brings coal to the good boys and girls and beer to the bad boys and girls. 

This may just be a Christmas where it pays to he on the naughty list.