We anchored in Colombo harbour at 7 am on 28th February 1969 in fine, humid weather. We decided to wait on board the Oriana until the car had been loaded onto a barge which would then take it ashore. Only three vehicles had been unloaded by late afternoon, none of them ours, so we went ashore. Customs for foreigners was fast and cursory whereas returning nationals were searched thoroughly and charged duty when applicable. My principal assets on arrival in Colombo were about US$800, mainly in American Express traveller’s cheques, and 40 rolls of colour slide film. This would have to last until about the end of June when we planned to arrive in London. With the three Canadians, Stuart and I booked into the YMCA. A smell of must and sweaty bodies pervaded the place.
We awoke next morning to the sound of vigorous expectorating in the street below. The street people were up and about. Arriving early at the customs office we found that our car and six others had been unloaded overnight and were on the wharf. The AA man in his primly starched khaki uniform, including oversized Bombay Bloomers with long socks, arrived on his yellow motorcycle and the formalities began – bill of lading, carnet, customs clearance. By early afternoon all seven cars had been processed and we could uncrate our camping gear and begin to load the car. This had to be done outside the customs area in the street, where a large crowd gathered to watch. We would have to get used to this, as it would follow us everywhere we went in Asia.
We needed money to pay wharfage and AA service charges but the Bank of Ceylon was closed. This was not really a problem as we were continually being asked in the street if we wanted to change money. The only issue with dealing on the black market, apart from the exchange rate, was that we had been warned that there was a lot of counterfeit money about. One of the Canadians had already received a dud coin in his change from the YMCA! The Tourist Information Service provided literature and maps. Then, next morning, we had to arrange third party insurance for the car and book a ferry to India for 10 days hence. This had to be achieved by 11.30 am when all offices closed, as it was a half day holiday. We were successful despite the local lethargy and bureaucracy, characteristic of the Indian subcontinent, which we were already experiencing. Two and a half days after arriving in Colombo we were ready to set off.
Colombo was an unremarkable place and after a short drive around town we headed south along the coast to Mount Lavinia. Here there is a fine old colonial style hotel overlooking the sea which is familiar to generations of tourists who have visited Colombo. We were accosted by a local astrologer and guide who offered to show us an 800 year old Buddhist temple nearby. Freshly arrived and not wishing to offend a friendly face, we followed on. At the end of the tour of the modest establishment, we were invited to sign the visitors’ book… and make a donation, of course.
Food was an immediate issue. We had quickly discovered that food in Ceylon was synonymous with curry and it was very hot. My only experience with curry before had been innocuous concoctions made by my mother using Vencatachellum curry powder. My taste buds were quickly rendered insensitive and I suspect they have never fully recovered since. We found that tropical fruit was abundant and breakfast usually consisted of a freshly-cut pineapple and maybe some bananas, which were always available for a snack along the road. The local water was avoided at all cost. Tea made with boiling water or a well sealed soft drink was the safer alternative. The evening meal depended on what produce we could find that day in the market place.
We continued further south to Panadura to visit a Mr Lloyd de Mel. He had approached us in the street in Colombo and invited us to drop in for a meal. He turned out to be a textile manufacturer and local identity. However, before we ate, he took us to the local police barracks where we were offered arrack, the local liquor, and entertained by a policeman with 13 children who sang in English, Sinhalese, Tamil and Malay and played the guitar, violin and piano. He was quite a character and famous locally for his own compositions. The other policemen joined in the choruses and accompanied by tapping the table and striking arrack bottles with their bottle tops. Eventually we ate at about 10.30 pm and spent the night in the de Mel factory office.
Next morning we photographed Mr de Mel and his factory. Colour film was not available then in Ceylon and he asked that we send him some prints when we could get our film processed, which of course would be some months hence. Although it was a Poya Day – a Buddhist holiday – the factory was working by 8 am; it had still been operating at 11 pm the previous evening when we went to bed. Mr de Mel and his friends all seemed to be Catholics, a legacy of the Portuguese presence during the 16th century.
We headed south to Galle, a walled city with a Dutch influence, continuing on past Dondra Head, the southernmost point of Ceylon, to Hambantota. The roads were generally very good, all tar sealed but very crowded, possibly because of the holiday, making progress slow. We were watching a Buddhist funeral in Matara when one of the mourners kindly came up and explained the ceremony to us. All of the shrines along the way were decorated with flags because of the Poya Day. For most of the distance bungalows and shacks lined the road, some substantial stone structures, others dingy thatch or mud huts. The country was incredibly green with coconut palms in fantastic profusion, the road tunnelling through them. It was an idyllic tropical scene. We photographed deserted beaches and fishermen with their nets and boats, and the famous offshore ‘stilt’ fishing platforms. Now that the conflict between the Hindu Tamils and the largely Buddhist Sinhalese has at last ended, there seems to be no reason why Sri Lanka cannot become just as popular to visit as Bali or Thailand, perhaps even more so as the island offers such a diversity of attractions, most of which we were yet to see.
We stayed overnight in a colonial era Rest House at Hambantota, complete with ‘full English breakfast’. Just out of Hambantota we came upon vast salt evaporating pans with dozens of workers busy shovelling away. Heading north and inland the country was flat and drier with fewer and more primitive houses. The substantial whitewashed houses that are typical of the southwest coast were now quite rare. Beyond Wellawaya, the road began to climb steeply. We had fitted an inexpensive altimeter to the car which showed that our first tea plantations were seen at about 2500 feet above sea level. Climbing further past the Diyaluma Falls and through Haputale, we reached Bandarawela, a large hill resort. The country was extremely picturesque with tea growing on the slopes and terraced rice paddies on the valley floor. The highlands are covered by a network of narrow roads linking many small villages among the plantations. We continued on through Welimada to Nuwara Eliya where we camped for the night at over 6000 feet.
The people we met were unbelievably friendly, always very curious and ready to talk. They would wave to us as we passed, like a triumphal progress, as indeed it was. The little Fiat had completed its first substantial climb, fully laden, and come through with flying colours. Everyone seemed very clean and healthy – we saw people washing in almost every stream. Some of the women were very pretty and made quite a sight in the late afternoon carrying their jars of water on the hip.
Nuwara Eliya is an old colonial hill station and an extraordinary place. It is a little bit of England, climate and all, placed in the centre of Ceylon. There are mock-Tudor houses and hedged gardens, European trees line the streets; only the shops and the inhabitants indicated that we were not in the Home Counties. The town is situated on a beautiful lake, with a boat club and a golf course.
Shopping was always an adventure. We were planning to use a small Primus stove for cooking purposes when we camped. This ran on kerosene and also required a small amount of methylated spirits to get it started. Obtaining a supply of these commodities caused some initial problems. ‘Kerosene’ did not register with the local shopkeeper, but as Stuart was English, he quickly realised that ‘paraffin’ was the correct term. Methylated Spirits was more difficult and, after much sniffing of bottles in the store, we found the right liquid. It was called, logically enough, Spirit of Wine.
The weather was cool but very pleasant. We climbed a little more over the Ramboda Pass at about 6500 feet before beginning the descent into Kandy, the old capital of Ceylon. The route was through mile upon mile of tea plantations and very beautiful. The pickers in the fields were mainly Tamils, as confirmed by the abundance of Hindu temples in the area. In contrast, on the southwest and southern coasts we saw mainly Buddhist shrines and the occasional Christian church, usually of Portuguese origin. There were also a few mosques around Kandy. The Tamils were originally recruited for the tea plantations by the British, apparently because they were considered more reliable workers than the Sinhalese.
Kandy was a noisy, bustling town teeming with people. I remembered how I was awe-struck by the crowds in Hong Kong. By now I was getting used to it, as it seemed that there was no square mile of Ceylon that was not inhabited. We visited the Temple of the Tooth (where a tooth of the Buddha is enshrined) and again were accosted by an old, silver haired ‘temple keeper’ who assured us he was a ‘friend of Don Bradman’. After he had shown us around, the usual donation was requested. We later went to see Kandy’s elephants being bathed but left quickly after being chased for money again. After visiting the University of Kandy, which has an attractive campus built in a local architectural style, we headed north looking for a site to camp for the night. Outside of populated areas the jungle was so dense that camping was not really possible, so we ended up driving on after dark to the Dambulla Rest House. It was very pleasant staying at these rest houses but they were really too expensive for our budget. We intended to camp whenever possible on the trip.
Dambulla is famous for its 2000 year old Buddhist cave temples set high on a granite dome, but they were very dingy and photography was forbidden. We were now in the area of Ceylon’s ancient historic monuments. Only 11 miles away is Sigiriya which is very impressive. On a sheer granite monolith, which rises 600 feet above the plain, a palace was built 1500 years ago. Surrounding it the outline of the royal pleasure gardens and its ponds can still be seen. Only the palace foundations remain. But high up on the cliff face, protected by an overhang, are magnificent frescoes of 18 full-breasted ‘heavenly maidens’ (apsaras), just a remnant of the 500 which originally covered the rock. The climb is not for the faint hearted but the ladies and the view from the top were well worth it.
Not far away is the ruined city of Polonnaruwa. On arrival we set to camp among the ruins and began to cook a meal. Two people came up to us and were quite insistent that we should camp at the police station. As we had found before, the local people, who seemed to us to be nothing but honest and friendly, were warning us about the bad ones among them. We moved to the police station where we were surrounded by crowds of questioning people. The police radio operators were particularly friendly and the following day one of them spent his off duty hours showing us around the ruins and buying us cups of tea. No one who helped us would accept any compensation. The friendliness and hospitality we received continued to amaze us.
Polonnaruwa was at its peak about 800 years ago when two kings, Parakrama Bahu and Nissamka Malla, were responsible for building the structures which lie in ruins today. Since only palaces and religious buildings were built in stone, they are all that remains of a city of perhaps three million people. Of the many sights at Polonnaruwa, perhaps the most impressive is a huge reclining Buddha which has been carved from a rock face of solid granite. While touring the ruins we met a lone English girl who was visiting Ceylon after seeing India, before returning home. Our guide, the radio operator, was amazed at seeing her unaccompanied, as this was not acceptable in his society.
The Parakrama Samudra is a reconstruction of an irrigation reservoir (called a ‘tank’) built by that king in Polonnaruwa. While walking on its bund at sunset we met a school teacher, Bertram de Silva. He bought us a beer and explained that he had tried to emigrate to Australia but was unsuccessful, despite his degree from Kandy University.
Next stop on the heritage trail was Mihintale. Here, with the obligatory guide, we climbed 1840 stone steps to the top of Missaka Mountain, the site of the conversion of King Tissa to Buddhism and the beginning of the Buddhist history of Ceylon. After inspecting three dagabas we continued on to Anuradhapura, another ruined city which predated Polonnaruwa. Although we had had our fair share of Buddhist ruins, it was perhaps a case of leaving the best until last as, among the ruins, one large stupa, the Ruvanvaliseya, has been restored to its former glory. It made a most imposing sight, its white washed dome gleaming in the afternoon sun.
Yet again we were the recipients of local hospitality. When buying food in the public market, we were befriended by a Tamil public servant who invited us home for the evening meal with his young wife and sister. We added our food to the family pot (curry, as usual) and after the meal, camped on the verandah of his government bungalow. Next morning he took half a day’s leave to show us around the ruins. As Ceylon is a Buddhist country, the religious sites in these old cities are still sacred. The Isurumuniya Vihara, a temple 2300 years old and in excellent repair, contained the finest statues of the Buddha we had seen in Ceylon. Nearby is a famous Bodhi tree, reputedly 2200 years old and grown from a cutting from the tree in India under which the Buddha gained enlightenment. It was quite small and frail and supported by iron crutches.
The landscape north of Kandy is quite different from other parts of Ceylon. There is dense jungle except where it has been cleared. The country is flat and dotted with artificial lakes (tanks) which once fed an extensive irrigation system that supported a flourishing civilisation centred first on Anuradhapura and later Polonnaruwa, which was more easily defended from attacks from enemies in the north. The history of Ceylon is punctuated with battles between the armies of the Buddhist south and Hindu invaders from southern India, the Tamils. The parallels with the recent unrest in the country are striking.
Before leaving the area and for a change of pace we visited Wilpattu Wildlife Reserve, 35 miles away. We were obliged to take a ‘tracker’ with us in the park, which was quite a tight fit in the little Fiat, and he did not speak a word of English. It was all rather disappointing as we saw only a few buffalo and deer, and in its first time on dirt roads we found that the Fiat bottomed its suspension rather too readily.
We had heard that most of the overlanders from the Oriana, including our Canadian friends in the VW, had already passed through and presumably caught an earlier ferry to India than ours. We headed north, spending the night with a doctor from the Mannar Hospital, to whom we had an introduction. We then continued on next morning the short distance to Talaimannar, the closest point to India, to catch the ferry. There was an enormous crowd waiting to go through customs so we had a leisurely breakfast and joined the queue. Vic and Chris O’Connell were already on the boat but ours was the only car travelling. There were several Australians and a lone American girl on board, and a number of Goanese waiters from the Oriana, apparently returning home on leave. Our car was driven over a simple sling arrangement, hoisted rather precariously onto the deck of the TSS Irwin and secured. Since we were travelling second class we were relegated to the lower deck which was seething with passengers and stank of urine.