Somehow, while waiting for a bus we ended up in a minivan. It was way more expensive, and took about the same time but at least we'd have somewhere to sit. The bus from Ella to Tangalle is notorious for having no free seats from the get-go, the charming man we met at the bus stop said we got a good deal on the minivan too; at least compared to the other passengers who we'd been told not to share our journey fee with - we did, and found out they were all rubbish at haggling.
Tangalle is split into two distinct areas, the seafront - filled with beach side bars and restaurants, quaint guesthouses and further down the ever present holiday resorts; and the real town - local markets selling fresh products, shops, banks and where the majority of Sri Lankans live. We'd decided on a lovely little guesthouse a minute's walk from the beach, so after 5 hours in the minivan, we hopped in a tuk-tuk to take us to our temporary home.
Our accommodation was nice, our own private space with a balcony looking over the lush garden and a hobbly old dog who had decided we were her new best friends. It was a great place to hide out from the weather, which had (of course) turned stormy the day after we arrived. With the weather going from bright blue skies to rain lashing down on a pretty unpredictable basis it was hard to enjoy the beach. The beach was lovely, but the sea was rough - although the weather probably wasn't helping - the wave-breakers scattered around provided small areas where it was safe enough to swim.
The beach was virtually empty, even when the sun was shining it was odd to see more than a handful of people. The restaurants were empty too, and although they were all cute little places with tables on the beach and complimentary sunbeds, they would be lucky to have one table full - day or night. It wasn't as if the food was bad, almost everywhere in Tangalle was pretty well rated and the food we had was wonderful and cheap; the place was just a ghost town.
If the seafront was a ghost town, the main town was a vibrant hub. Bored of not seeing anyone, and having nothing to do we walked the 2km to the main market to spend half an hour wandering the wares and soaking in the atmosphere. Although after seeing so many local markets they all start to look the same, I still enjoy going along to do some people watching - seeing people going about their day to day lives.
On our last day here the sun chased away the clouds, so Ben and I decided to make the most of it and headed to the beach. We were enjoying a peaceful swim when a local man started up a chat, happy to leave me to it Ben floated off. It started off as normal, "where are you from?" ... "how do you like Sri Lanka?" ..."where are you staying?"... "where are you going next?". Then bam! Next thing i know, I have a tuk-tuk organised for the next day and the man promptly swam off. I had been touted in the sea and it happened too fast for me to think it through. Ben was more than a little bemused when he returned, but by then it was too late and I think we got an okay deal.
The tuk-tuk arrived at 11am the next morning and whisked us away to our next destination, not before trying to get us to go in his "friends" shop along the way. We arrived at a guesthouse 2km away from Hiriketiya beach, which is where we would be spending Christmas. I don't want to bad-mouth the hosts of where we stayed, they were truly lovely people ... they just happened to be very noisy people too. Not blessed with indoor voices, the owners teenage girls would bellow "Amma" day or night whenever they needed their mum's attention, and they seemed to believe their three dogs howling throughout the night was a good thing - telling us the dogs would keep us safe... although it just left us slightly sleep deprived.
In contrast to Tangalle beach, Hiriketiya (locally known as Hiri) beach was packed! It was a small picturesque cove, surrounded by restaurants selling overpriced western food, rentable sunbeds and the sea was absolutely rammed with surfers. There are tons of blogs online extolling the virtues of Sri Lanka's hottest surfing destination, but they don't tend to mention quite how many surfers turn up. Not only is the seafront food pretty pricey, the hostels and hotels nearer the water also have pretty hefty price tags... which is how we ended up quite so far away. We did manage to find some local food for more local prices, but we treated ourselves too; it was Christmas time after all.
Eager to be away from the crowds we made the 15 minute walk to the nearby beach of Dikwella. Situated next to a bustling town, the beach was strangely quiet; with only a few hotels in the area it seemed like few people make the journey to come visit. It was a stunning, broad beach with white sands and gently lapping waves. After stowing our stuff in the shade, we wandered out into the surf for a swim. The sea was shallow so it took us a while to get out to swimming depth and once we did the current was surprisingly strong - not that we noticed at first.
After 10 minutes of swimming, we ventured past where Ben and I could stand and that's where we got into trouble. While treading water we suddenly noticed quite how far away the beach had got, and after a few minutes of swimming it didn't seem to be getting any closer. Not the most comfortable in open water, I started to panic ... not the smartest thing to do. Ben smartly suggested trying backstroke, as it was easier and we made a real push to get back to where we could stand going slightly at an angle to the shore. After what seemed like an age, I could just about stand tiptoe on the sea floor and after another push I could finally stand up. This is where Ben admitted he felt pretty worried too, but at least he kept his cool at the time, one of us had to. We did go back in the sea there on other occasions, but never out of our depths.
Not withstanding the excitement of our almost-drowning, our time spent in Hiri over the festive period was a far cry from the usual hectic, stressful and boozey Decembers in England. With Ben's job in hospitality meaning he was always at his busiest at this time of year, and my work with horses being an almost 24/7 affair, our usual celebrations would be limited to two days. We would split the time between both sets of parents, which meant picking up Ben late on Christmas Eve, driving 30 miles to my Mumma's house and staying over for present opening, an enormous amount of food and an equal (if not greater) quantity of drink. On Boxing Day we'd leave early and drive back to Cambridge to see Ben's parents for another enormous lunch... and then straight back to work.
It was strange having so much time to enjoy ourselves, and the freedom to do whatever we wanted. No work, no commitments but also no family to share the time with. It was hard getting in the festive spirit with blue skies, high temperatures and not a piece of tinsel in sight. Not that i'm complaining mind, but it certainly took a bit of getting used to! We'd decided already that, as we share a bank account and are spending the next few years carrying everything we own, we wouldn't bother with presents. Given that last year Ben bought me a pair of bright yellow cowboy boots, it was also a safer option.
We were missing family and friends so decided to cheer ourselves up by indulging - a tried and tested solution. We went out to one of the fanciest brunch spots on the beach, ordering two of our favourite breakfasts - Eggs Royale, washed down with an equally fancy drink each. With our bellies full to bursting we spent Christmas morning horizontal by the beach, occasionally mustering up enough energy for a cooling little dip in the sea. As Sri Lanka is 5 and a half hours ahead of England we had most of the day to ourselves before we had to tackle the consistently inconsistent wifi and call home.
We identified a relatively reliable spot for internet and picked a quiet table away from the bar to videochat with our families. We'd barely said hi to my mum and sister before the sound of a highly amplified (and slightly out of tune) guitar blocked out any chance of a conversation, so we spent a few minutes smiling and waving before we decided to give up and find somewhere else. Our second spot was much quieter, maybe because as we went to take the first sips of our extortionately priced drinks, a gigantic mummified earwig fell out of Ben's straw and straight into his glass. With the critter fished out with a spoon, we managed to have a nice natter with my family and played a few games of pool before Ben's mum and dad were ready for their post-lunch chat.
I've got to admire to effort involved in setting up the gogglebox-esque chat we entered into, with Tony and Brenda sat on their sofa along with Ben's aunt Tracey, Lawrie, Jen, Jen's sister AND the next-door neighbour it became apparent that this conference call wasn't going to work. First off, they were sat 6 feet away from a tiny microphone that looked like it came from Alan Sugar's attic, so we could barely hear anything they said. Secondly, there was some sort of delay between what they said and what we heard, so we would both sit in silence for a few seconds, before starting a sentence only to be interrupted by the other side. We ended up getting Lawrie to sit next to the TV, his head blocking out the rest of the assorted family and friends, while he did his best to hear our questions and then relate them to the rest of the group. In theory this could have just about worked, but Lawrie (being Lawrie) would get distracted and come up with something else instead. Queue a lot more smiling and waving before we eventually said our goodbyes, over the top of each other.
The next day we carried on the Phillips' Boxing Day tradition of a long amble through the countryside. As we weren't really in the countryside we ended up heading to the beach instead, past quiet villages and up and down a fair few hills, we hit a sleepy fishing harbour far away from anything remotely touristy. We spent a good few hours indulging Ben's hobby of staring into rock pools, pointing at various fishes (or even better: crabs) before even he was bored and we decided to head back. Luckily we encountered a band of rascally puppies to keep me happy, and before long we were back home. It's good to get some fresh air and a bit of exercise after a Christmas spent eating the fattiest food you can find, but its not quite the same when you're not freezing your arse off.
Any benefit from our token exercise was undone by our generous hosts the next evening. As we were leaving they put on a farewell meal (on the house!), a never-ending stream of homemade goodies, mostly from their own garden, the star being the best pumpkin curry i've ever had. After a food-induced coma lasting til the next morning, we said goodbye to our loud but thoroughly lovely host family and jumped into a tuktuk towards our next destination: Unawatuna.
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