Had dinner at our hotel last night and found ourselves sitting next to a very nice couple; her from Holland, him from Lebanon. He was kind enough to give us the number of the guy they’d hired a bike from – said he was starting to get a business off the ground, and he had very new bikes at very keen prices. WhatsApp’d the guy over breakfast and agreed 4,000 for two days, with a hundred buck deposit. 20 minutes later his brother turned up with what did indeed look like a nearly new bike. Never even asked to see a license, let alone the license plus international drivers permit plus endorsement from the Ministry of Transport, which apparently is required, and easily available at the airport (who knew?) but basically nowhere else. As for the deposit, it just never came up. Took an initial ride down to the second Jungle Beach where we had a really nice swim. As we gathered our things, Virle said “Got the keys?” I patted my pockets and said, “I hope you were kidding, because I haven’t.”
We agreed I must’ve left them on the bike, and we headed back up the hill. Got to the bike, no keys. Emptied out pockets, bags, everything, no keys. Oh shit. “We’ve only had it two hours.” I lamented. “Well, the only thing I can think of to do is retrace our steps and hope for the best, so you wait here and I’ll go back down to the beach. See you in 20 minutes.” As I got to the entrance (we’d paid 200 to park off road), I was approached by a guy with the guy who’d taken the 200. He said something to me about keys which I didn’t quite catch, but it was clear that he had them. But he hadn’t had his money’s worth yet. “No no, you need your keys; these are my keys.” But he said it with a smile. After a minute or two of my keys your keys, he relinquished them and I started up, handing the guy 500 as we left: “Thank you for your keys.”
After a bakery lunch, we got back on the bike and headed for the old town of Galle, just up the coast. Occupied by the Dutch, then the Brits, the place turned out to be a wonderful mish mash of cultures, architectures and just the right amount of tourist modernity, and we spent a delightful few hours walking the ramparts, meandering through the old town, and checking out the merchandise.
We finished up by watching the sun go down, sitting on the ramparts watching everyone take selfies in the setting sun, then back on the bike and to the madness that is the main drag, heading for a restaurant Virle had found on Google which looked like our kind of place – simple, local, dare I say authentic. Not for the first time, we found that finding somewhere on Google and finding it in the real world can be two quite different things, and in the end we simply rode along slowly, looking for anywhere that looked right. And boy did we find it. Busy, loud, and when Virle’s dish arrived we realised we’d done it again. I stopped the (immensely charming) waiter and asked if we could have my entire meal in a doggy bag, since we’d struggle to eat V’s between us. He was greatly amused, said no problem, and we ended up riding home with Virle holding me with one hand and a weighty bag of nasi goreng in t’other.
