Good morning sunshine

23 September 2013  

After what can only be described as an intensely paranoid night’s sleep for both parties, I did the only possible thing to rectify the situation.  

Hopping out of bed and over to the flimsy wooden shutters (the root cause of the paranoia), I opened them to reveal an absolute delight for the mind, body, and soul.  

The early morning sun danced on the waves and warmed the sand. The palm trees swayed gently in the light breeze. It was stunning.  

We immediately decided to take advantage and threw on the nearest available clothing, strolling down to the shore to share a very special moment with a beach cow or two (or maybe about six).  

Although waking up on the beach made the broken night’s sleep all worthwhile, we were happy to accept that there would be many more beach shacks to come.  

We decided to check into the hotel recommended by our new friends, Mike and Diana (a lovely couple in their mid-50s traveling Sri Lanka for three months after a long stint in India and Nepal).  

We came to check out the Sunrise Hotel yesterday and couldn’t believe that we could get a beautiful marble-floored room here, in this two-month-old hotel, for even less than £10 a night!  

We packed up and trekked to Sunrise (rather heavy backpacks on back) in the early morning heat, and it was all well worth the effort.  

For the first time on our trip, we had a pristine room.  

After reveling in the cleanliness and showering to excess, we took a stroll along the bay (the beach is only a three-minute walk from our new abode, so it’s not too big a sacrifice).  

At the end of the beach, there is a beautiful lagoon, but a stream prevents you from walking to the point of the cove without getting wet, and neither of us fancied the strong current much, so we headed back and jumped in a tuk-tuk to Nilaveli Beach—rumoured to be even more beautiful than the beach here at Uppuveli.  

We bartered for a tuk-tuk, thinking that Nilaveli was just a short distance and were refused the journey at the low price we were offering.  

We asked around, and 700 rupees was the standard price.  

We managed to get our guy down to 500 and shot off.  

We whizzed past more lagoons, a huge gold temple, and through an army checkpoint.  

I had totally missed the terrifying view of four Sri Lankan soldiers not just wearing or holding but pointing AK47s.  

The rumours were true... the beach was spectacular and pretty much deserted (except for a small party of Sri Lankans bobbing about in the waves at the closest entry point to the beach).  

We looked up and down the long stretch of empty beach and were devastated to see not one ounce of shade.  

We walked down the beach for about a mile and still none.  

It was scorching hot, approaching midday, but not even a smidgen of grey to be found anywhere along the white sands.  

Staying would have led to two very frazzled individuals, so we headed back to our new local beach.  

Not an entirely successful self-made day trip, but we had to see this "even better than paradise" beach for ourselves.  

We took dinner in one of the beach bars.  

Our waiter (who was suffering from a fever, so should be let off) was devoid of any charm and took to near enough slamming our drinks and meals down in front of us without a smile or any acknowledgment of our thanks.  

The whole meal lasted about two hours after some confusion over my order...  

My seafood noodle soup had arrived sans noodles and seafood, and our charming waiter had to be convinced that it was lacking both these elements before returning it to the kitchen.  

When it arrived, it was pretty good, with bits of crab, prawns, and noodles, so we succeeded in the end.  

Torchlight led us back to our hotel, where we had a nightcap with Mike and Diana and Davyd and Sonya (a Slovenian couple who appear to be very adventurous travellers. Davyd had mostly spent the day constructing a homemade spear to take to the beach to catch fish).  

Davyd offered a plastic Coke bottle around, full of clear liquid.  

This homebrew plum schnapps packed a punch!  

Davyd explained it was made by his grandfather back in Slovenia and that he only had one bottle left... we’re not sure how many he’s been carrying around with him.  

We crawled into crisp white sheets and slept like kings.

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