Travel Stories - Sri Lanka

Not much later the train trudged away and I wave goodbye to everyone who stays behind on the platform. Through the open windows I see forests, mountains, villages, tea plantations and swirling rivers passing by. It is indeed much more pleasant to travel by train; right through the fields and gardens of the local people. The train still appears to be a sensation here; something special. Young and old stand still when they hear the train approaching and there is a big wave and smile when we do. In Sri Lanka, there are no bars in front of the windows (like in India) and I have not yet seen the inspector yet. There is a lot of space between the benches and everything is made of wood - antique. At half past six in the evening it starts to get a bit dark; it gets chilly and I hear the windows close one by one in different places in the train. I want to keep mine open as long as possible so that I can see where we are and more importantly; where I have to get off the train. It is strange to drive through the dark landscape with the window open - in the tunnels the girls are frightened by the boys who make scary noises. It is a quarter past seven when we drive into "Haputale" and here the train tickets are picked up. I meet someone at the train station who does have a room and negotiate the price. Of course it is cold here - we are at 1600 meters high and I am tired. I check in in the hostel and I take a hot shower. Then I walk back to the main building and order a meal in the restaurant before going back and getting into my bed.

I wake up after more than 10 hours of sleep; the room feels damped and I open two indows to get some fresh air. I decide to walk to the "Adisham" monastery, which should be further up in the mountains. First I wander around in the city that is built against the mountain and then I follow a road where houses are on both sides. The buildings are becoming less, and the number of children who scream for a pen, too. Then I pass the first tea plantations and I have a beautiful panorama of the landscape. The last part of my walk is no more than a path through a national park. After a beautiful walk I arrive at an open space where a man is cooking corn on the cob. It will be my breakfast and I am already looking over the fence to the underlying grounds where the monastery is located. First a large rose garden, typical English and behind it a neatly mowed lawn. It is located on a plateau with a beautiful view over the valleys. An organic shop is located in the stables, but of course I come for a tour in the old monastery. First I have to take off my shoes and then a cassette-a tape is put on which you can hear a voice in English explain the history of the building and the surrounding landscape. The interior is old English and there is a large portrait of the old owner and large landowner (read: tea plantations) "Sir Villeirs" on the wall. I actually wonder why they call it a monastery, because I think it's an English country house on itself. After looking at the library, I walk around the estate before I return to the town.

The alarm goes off at half past five today and it is cold here in the room! I shower, dress up, get a small bag and walk in total darkness to the gate where I indeed hear a tuktuk at five o'clock. Yesterday I tried to make an appointment with someone to take me to the tea-plantations. The boy is well-behaved and I hope he will take me to my desired destination. First there are still some lights in the city but then we drive into the darkness – the only light we see is the one of our own tuktuk. After ten minutes we drive into the first tea plantation which looks mystic in darkness. It is completely spooky - so quiet that it is almost anxious. There are some signs along the road here and relieved I see that we are driving to the proper tea plantation - that's one thing. After three quarters of an hour of bumping in the back of the tuktuk, the road is blocked by a barrier. The tuktuk can not go any further and the boy is about to go back. He shows me the way and it is still going through my mind whether this was such a good plan yes or no. I see him drive away and there I am in the middle of nowhere in the dark on a tea plantation, not knowing how I will ever return. 

I have a flashlight with me but I decide to walk down the path by moonlight. The only thing I hear is my own breathing and my shoes on the gravel of the path. On top of the mountain is a plateau made by human hands and there is a sign that says that at this place "Mr. Lipton" was here in 1898 to admire his own tea plantations. There is an indoor tea house with two wooden benches here and it is chilly here; the air is thin even though the wind is powerless. At six it’s becoming slightly light, but the sun does not really break through. Reason for which I have come here is that here a beautiful panorama would occur by sunrise. On the one hand I see a deep valley with high mountains and on the other side under a thick cloud pack a sea of tea plantations with little houses where I now see some light. It is not nearly as impressive as I had hoped, and it is probably because it is not clear. Half an hour later it gets worse and a dense fog closes the whole valley and there is nothing more to see. I'll give up and go back around eight o'clock.

The tea plantations are so beautiful here that the photos and video clips of the commercials must be taped here - an undulating whole of exactly the same level of shrubs. Only the fog spoils the view a bit in the distance. Walking down the paths I suddenly meet the tea pickers. I talk to the supervisor who does not mind me taking some pictures and the ladies are smiling too. At the foot of the mountain there is a village and in the distance I see the tea factory which is probably closed today - because it is Sunday. The houses in the village often have a vegetable garden and there are also chickens, goats and cows in the gardens to mess around. Everyone greets me very gently and warm and the children do their best smiling and waving when they see me watching their game of cricket.

I see smoke coming from the chimney from the large glass building what the tea factory should be; it is open? It is a building that would be on the monument list in our countries - so authentic and old-fashioned but therefore so interesting. Next to the factory are all workers' houses and I walk up some kind of iron construction to get to the front door. It is possible to visit the "Dambatenne" tea factory says the guard and I pay the ticket. The factory was built in 1890 by Sir "Lipton" and has, to my knowledge, changed little since then. The whole process is explained and of course I can not take pictures because of the fierce competition in the tea business and for protection of the process. For me, in addition to the process of making tea, seeing the workers is perhaps even more interesting. They are there day in and day out in those fumes to labor for probably a hunger wage. He says that about 80% is still being exported to the Western world and that it is now time for tasting the good myself. There are 9 small antique cups for me in this tasting room and the man tells us that the big boss taste the tea still every day. When I get outside, it rains and I rush to the minibus opposite the factory and it actually leaves immediately. The actual plan was to make a "hike" in this beautiful landscape this afternoon or tomorrow, but the owner indicates that the weather remains bad the following days. I decide to leave.