Unawatuna is just the name of the local beach – one of the most famous in Sri Lanka – but I can’t help pronouncing it like some cod character in an old episode of The Lone Ranger. Unawatuna! And so much for that.
This morning, as per Virle’s suggestion, we got up at sparrow fart to go for a walk in the national forest. Sadly, and not for the first time, Google’s path we were to follow proved not to exist. So we visited the peace pagoda instead. And very quietly graceful it was too.
Then down to Jungle Beach again, hoping for some snorkelling, now the crowds of the weekend had subsided. Sadly room on the beach was limited and we found we’d parked up next to a young man and his partner, who droned on and on and on and on and on and on and on about their relationship, barely drawing breath for upwards of half an hour. The bloke managed half a dozen words from start to no signs of a finish. When I returned from my snorkelling recce, I found Virle had moved, that or strangulation being the only available options. Sadly she had moved next to a woman equally verbally diarrhoeaic, and we were forced to leave the beach for the safety of some rocks to avoid an ‘incident’ and safeguard Virle’s sanity. The snorkelling was great: loads of beautiful, brightly coloured fish, in a sea much clearer than it had been the other day.
After lunch and our usual siesta, we set off again for Galle. We’d done most of the sights, but we liked Galle a lot, there’s not a whole lot of other options, and we hadn’t seen the clocktower. In the event, it was great. We found a street or two we hadn’t previously wandered, checked out a few more shops – there are some very arty types round here, and the architecture makes a great backdrop for their wares – and returned to the Fort for another sunset. Then we went to the clocktower. And it was worthwhile after all, the clocktower nothing special, but the location up on the walls giving great views over the twinkling town. Plus there were some right spooky statues near the base.
Then back on the bike, and along the coast road to our favourite restaurant, where we ordered one dish – devilled chicken – rather to the disgust of our cheery waiter – “That’s not a meal, it’s a snack!” When it arrived, we were surprised to find it came without rice, so we had to order some separately, which seemed to throw everyone into a bit of a flat spin – apparently they “don’t do that.” But they worked it out, of course, and we ended up with a lovely meal, though the ‘is this chilli?’ V munched down on folded her face like a crumpled napkin. Moral of the story: if you want a proper spicy meal, don’t ask for spicy at a tourist place, go to a place full of Sri Lankans.