evebluelyn's rambling: Sri Lankan Journal #4

Mirissa Beach

A driver booked by Intrepid Travel met Jennell and me at Bandaranaike International Airport, just north of Colombo, when we arrived in Sri Lanka just about eleven in the morning on Sunday, December 21. To drive us the 150 km to Mirissa, a village located on a beautiful curve of beach on Sri Lanka’s southern coast, took the driver almost five hours; infrastructure in Sri Lanka definitely ranks as third world! Still, it was a fascinating drive and often very beautiful. We spent the next four days based in a cute but rather empty hotel, the Palace Mirissa, situated on top of a headland at the western end of Mirissa Beach. Whether because of booking confusion or the lack of any crowd during this “high season” (and the Sri Lankans bemoaned the dearth of tourists throughout our trip) or some combination of both, Jennell and I each had our own cabanas but right next door to each other.

We are greeted in the arrivals hall.

This is the interior of my cabana at the Palace Mirissa.

This is a view from outside the dining area of the Palace Mirissa.

In the mornings I would head to the beach just after sunrise—interpretation: after 6:30 but before 7:00—to run/walk and watch the way a new day opened before meeting Jennell for breakfast at 8:00 in the dining area overlooking the cliff edge and the sea. While I gorged on fresh tropical fruit—with an emphasis on MANGOS—and a “Sri Lankan” omelet (by day four I had finally convinced the cook that I really could handle some of those chilis that officially belong in the omelet), Jennell ate eggs over easy and sausages between multiple cups of tea. Then we would unfold the design for the rest of a day by a beach piece by piece and always with robust injections of improvisation.

Monday, our first full day there, we hired a taxi and driver and headed to Galle, an adventure that will require a separate post. Tuesday, with a little help from the hotel manager, Jennell discovered Eddy, a German expat with a full repertoire of enterprises to entice the tourist, to include diving. While Jennell went diving with Eddy, I photographed boats in Weligama, a fishing village just west of Mirissa, in between chats with locals, all anxious to engage me and my tourist dollar in a variety of activities ranging from massage to fishing, from saris to snorkeling. Then I returned to Mirissa for an afternoon at the beach, an occasion commencing with selecting which of four freshly-caught fish I would like grilled for my lunch. You see, lounge chair and umbrella options at Mirissa Beach all had direct connections to beach hut eating and drinking establishments; I chose my lunch, so to speak, when I chose my chair and shade! Although I had never heard of any of the fish names given to any of the four different fish displayed in all their glassy-eyed glory on the plastic green tray the guy held in front of me, I chose the smallest of the four because I hoped I could eat more of its entire size and not have to leave behind as large a remnant. The chosen fish returned to my presence, grilled in its entirety, eyes dull and dark. French fries and salad shared the plate. The flesh of the fish startled me with its dark color, but the flavor was mild and pleasant. I devoured a goodly portion of it along with the French fries, which were awesome. I am not one who ever even craves French fries; I can eat three or four and be done. In Sri Lanka, however, the fries were always amazingly good—salty, flavorful, and perfectly textured. I probably ate more French fries while in Sri Lanka than I have eaten all together in the past two years. The salad offered was good, too, but I couldn’t decide if it was “safe,” so I only dabbled with it. I grew ever more courageous with food, though, as our trip progressed, to the point of regularly purchasing sliced mangos from street vendors even though I had no idea where the knife that did the peeling and cutting of “my mangos” had been before! I never got sick while in Sri Lanka, by the way.

Wednesday after breakfast, I returned to Mirissa Beach proper accompanied Jennell. Mirissa Beach can generate quite a powerful surf at certain times in the day—probably tide-related. In fact, surfers hang out at the western end of the beach below the jutting headland. Jennell, a true Florida girl at heart and in skills, decided it was time for me to learn to body surf. She explained, modeled, and coached. I watched and attempted to mimic her as she called out which wave to float over, which wave to duck under, and which wave to take. Now, you need to also understand that Jennell is just under six feet tall and she is a strong, experienced swimmer; I am five feet three and I know how to swim. One time I really caught a wave at the perfect moment and it was magical. One time I really caught a wave at an inopportune moment and had my body pummeled by the surf so vigorously as to move the two pieces of my tankini away from the body parts they were designed to cover. I had some serious readjustments to make once I rediscovered my bearings and the atmosphere! All the other wave moments of the body surfing experience were just plain ol’ fun.

Maybe ten minutes into our body surfing fun, five boys, ranging in age from perhaps nine to thirteen, joined our realm in the waves. Three were local boys with one boogey board to share among them; two were Germans with a boogey board each. (I had heard their father speaking to them earlier while renting the boards from a beach hut.) One of the local boys made us all friends within minutes despite limited English. He flashed these beautiful white teeth whenever he grinned, a grin so wide, so contagious, you couldn’t help but smile back.

“What your name?’ he asked first Jennell and then redirected the question to me. After we responded in turn, he asked, “What your country?” Once again we answered. Then he nodded at the German boys, “He your baby?” Even after Jennell replied in the negative, followed by me, he remained nonplussed. He simply turned to the German boys and asked their names. From then on it was just the waves and us!

Thursday, Christmas Day, we breakfasted at our established hour, said our good-byes to now familiar hotel staff and the British family of three—currently living in Dubai—with whom we had shared numerous conversations over breakfasts and dinners, and climbed into the van we had hired along with a driver (thanks to Eddy and one of his other enterprises) to head east along the coast to Yala.