Monday, July 26, 2010

More on beach holidays (and suitcases).

Ah yes, Galle, the torrential rainfall and the little, hissing, angry, clapping man…that was where we left off. And now to continue…

The next day dawned gray and soggy. Complain, we did not…much anyway. No, it was a wonderful excuse to sleep in, read in bed, extend our collaborate role as Shireen’s Danish boyfriend and enjoy a leisurely breakfast of French toast and croissants. By the time the last smattering of strawberry jam had disappeared and the last of the coffee had been drunk, the sun had decided to join us and all was well.

We strolled on the beach, met an elephant and a couple of horses and went tromping through the sea-side boutiques. The elephant stood out somewhat and Al and I decided to take a leap of faith and pet it. Trust me when I say that elephants look a whole lot larger when you’re standing directly under their trunks than they do on TV. However, the elephant was very good about it all, and endured the furtive taps rather well.

There is only so much a girl can do when she is faced with tens upon hundreds of silky, swirly, beautifully embroidered wraps in every color fluttering in the wind. These can also be conveniently sewn into dresses of your choice for prices that makes cough drops sound expensive, and so levels of self-control averaged at about 0.3 on the Richter scale. Needless to say, our persons will always be welcome back at the Beruwella oceanfront, as helping to keep the Sri Lankan economy afloat became one of our greatest accomplishments.

After a dip by the reef, a spree in the pool, a few written postcards and several Pina Coladas (did we mention we got a terrific deal on the all-inclusive option? We did, thanks to my highly efficient father, and we made sure his efforts were not in vain) it was Bingo time. Now Bingo is all well and good when the man reading out the numbers avoids trying to cause an uproar with every number that pops out of the little behandled globe. Unfortunately we had that man.

“Noooow this next number…is….my AGE…!” (Insert terrific enthusiasm)



Predominant silence. A few murmurs.

“Guess!! Guess! Guess!!”

Feeble, solo attempt of “28” from the back.

“NOOOOOOO! FIFTEEN!!! HAHAHAHAHAH…Joke, joke…one…five…number one…number five…but that’s not my age...” (Insert sly, knowing smile)

Nicky was just about under the table by the time we got to number 97. The Colada’s helped.

Our next adventure was Colombo – the big city, shopping galore and temperatures that would turn the arctic tropical. Shezzie, Al and I stayed with Auntie Agnes who was a doll about allowing us to crash at her place for the night. All was dandy until Auntie Agnes left for work and we left the house an hour later – only to realize that not only were we locked in the gate but out of the house. With a suitcase that weighed about as much as a minivan. No matter, it was but a leap over the gate, with the suitcase being hiked up shakily behind me and tipped over the edge, followed by Al and Shez, the former of which ended up on the gate post with the later clutching eagerly for a foothold with her feet. Eventually we, suitcase included, made it safely to the ground. Panting slightly and having broken a glow, we smiled rather smugly at each other until we turned around to face a small bushel of girls and a slightly alarmed looking Sister staring at us from the convent opposite. Little nuns in training and we had probably scarred them for life.

We met my parents shortly after (post being thrown out of our second church this vacation by a fool man in an awful shirt – it was quite obviously not our best run for churches that week) and proceeded to get ourselves a couple of visas and shop till we should shop no more.

Shezzie decided that she was feeling left out. So in she went. Clothes and all.

We made it home tanned to a respectable degree, several books read, much sleep caught up on and crab legs sampled. Truly scrumptious.

So much love,

Alisa and Steph

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