Thursday 29 January 2015

The Sinharaja Rainforest: Part 11 of Sri Lanka, Isle of Serendip

Eight years ago today (28-Jan-2015) we were in Sri Lanka. We spent the day driving across the south of the island to the Sinharaja rain forest. A small area of tropical warmth and semi-permanent rain

A Small Patch of Rainforest, and Some of its Flora and Fauna.

28-Jan-2015

From Ella to the Rainforest


Sri Lanka
The next morning we set off down the Ella Gap towards the southern coastal plain.

Our journey had broken neatly into three parts, first the 'Cultural Triangle' in the north central part of the island, then the Highlands in the south centre and now the southern plain. We had avoided the far north and east of the island partly because this is the majority Tamil area where the aftermath of the civil war is most keenly felt - though it is now safe to visit - but mostly because of the weather. Sri Lanka is a small island (4 times the size of Wales, or a bit smaller than Scotland if you prefer) but has two distinct climate zones - in January monsoon rains still fall on the northeast while in the south and west it is the dry season.

Down the Ella Gap - our decent from the highlands

Reaching the plain we turned west on one of the main roads across the island and made good time.

Southern Sri Lanka (Locations relevant to this post are marked in red)

The Udawalawe National Park

The temperature had risen considerably since leaving the highlands, but speeding along in air-conditioned comfort we hardly noticed. Passing the Udawala National Park we stopped to look at ibis, egrets and pelicans squabbling around a pond.

Pelicans, Ibis and Egrets, Udawalawe National Park

Further along, an elephant had strayed onto the neck of land between the park fence and a lake. Cars, and buses were stopping and young men were approaching visitors with the cry 'mango, elephant lunch!'

The beast had been lured into this spot and effectively trapped so that a gang of youths could profit from selling ‘elephant food’ – against the rules of the national park. We declined to buy a mango, but could not resist the photo op.

Unfortunate elephant, Udawalawe National Park

Beyond the park we turned north, pausing for petrol at the small town of Godakawela and using the ATM in the garage forecourt. From here we took a minor road which climbed steadily back into the foothills of the highlands.

Godakawela

Spotting some clove trees Ravi stopped. I prefer to use dried cloves in moderation, the flavour can overwhelm and not always pleasantly. Fresh from the tree, though, green cloves have a powerful sweetness and chilli-like heat with none of the unhappy overtones of dried cloves - pure delight.

Hey, look, there's cloves on this tree!

Further on and higher up it started to rain. Having made generalisations about Sri Lanka’s climate, I must now note some exceptions. Parts of the island are surprisingly arid, while a small area in the south west sees rain all year round. We were heading for Sinharaja, 82km² of virgin rainforest, saved from logging by its inaccessibility and now a forest park and UNESCO world heritage site.

Cloves, fresh, green, undried and utterly lovely

Sinharaja

The Blue Magpie Lodge

We soon reached the Blue Magpie Lodge just outside the park entrance. Holding up umbrellas, the staff clustered round the car, grabbed our cases and led us to a room in one of the long, low wooden huts surrounding the central grassy area.

With a concrete floor, wooden walls and a wooden table and chair the room was Spartan, as was the bathroom, though it had all that was needed. A sign even promised hot water from 6.30 to 10 in the evening and 'in the early morning'.

We had been forewarned that the Blue Magpie would be basic, but it was clean and entirely adequate. We washed our hands in cold water and dashed through the rain to the open-sided thatched hall that was the communal dining area. Although there was a scattering of houses outside the lodge, a hamlet rather than a village, there were no facilities and we were on full-board.

Dining area, Blue Magpie Lodge, Sinharaja

Lunch was served as soon as a party of a dozen or more British birders returned from wherever they had been bothering the local avifauna. Unsurprisingly it was a rice and curry buffet, but pleasant enough.

Afterwards we left the birders looking through books, arguing about identifications and ticking birds off lists and retired to our room. Outside the rear window was a feeding station, where watermelon rinds and coconut husks attracted both birds and stripy, bushy-tailed squirrels. The birds were mostly pigeons, smaller and more colourful than the wood pigeons that infest our garden at home. Suddenly another bird rose from a low branch. It was a startling brilliant white, like gloss paint, a little smaller than a blackbird with an elegant tail several times its body length. It flapped into the air, body and tail moving sinuously, until it grabbed whatever morsel it had risen to catch, then settled back onto the nearest branch. We watched as it repeated the performance again and again. It was, by far, the most exotic bird we have ever seen.

Squirrel on the bird feeder, Sinharaja rainforest
(because I failed to get any pictures of the birds)

Returning to the dining area we set our sights on another bird feeder. There was a greater variety here - though the people who could identify them were donning their waterproofs and heading out into the rain - but there was nothing like the shimmering white wraith we had been watching before.

Sinharaja: A Stroll Round the Village

After the birders left, the rain eased and then stopped. We set out for a stroll and were soon accosted by two small boys who asked our names and tried out their rudimentary English. Their names were long and unpronounceable, at least by us. Sinhalese personal and place names can be of extraordinary length and native speakers often appear to become bored half way through; the ends of long words becoming the verbal equivalent a squiggle at the end of a signature.

The houses looked well-built and prosperous but we wondered why people who live on a sun-drenched island should choose to live in the only place where it is always raining, about to rain, or has just stopped raining.

The hamlet outside the Bue Magpie Lodge, Sinharaja

On the way back we were passed by a truck loaded with tea. It stopped to drop off a woman and the two lads we had spoken to earlier climbed into the back. It was the school run, of sorts.

The school run, Sinharaja

Birders at the Blue Magpie

We passed the rest of the afternoon chatting with Ravi and making some notes before all the residents reassembled in the dining hall in the evening. The birders covered their tables with books and laptops as photos were downloaded, additions made to lists and discussions held about what they had and had not seen.

We found ourselves seated by a young French Canadian on a five month solo tour of the Indian subcontinent and Southeast Asia before returning home to embark on a PhD. He had spent much of the last year cataloguing arctic birds, so he too was an expert birder, if a little out of his area. We described the graceful white wisp of a bird we had seen and he knew exactly what it was. Leafing through one of his books he found a picture of a paradise flycatcher. The species is polymorphic, the common form being reddish while we had been fortunate to see the rarer brilliant white version.

Asian Paradise Flycatcher
Photo by Munish Jauhar, sourced from Wikipedia
This one was photographed in northern India - ours had only a small patch of darker colouring on its head

Predictably, dinner was rice and curry. Given the limited repertoire we were happy it was our last main meal there. Dessert was buffalo curd and treacle, the first time we had encountered this Sri Lankan favourite. The curd was not unlike Greek yogurt, and pouring on the thick product of the island’s cane sugar industry completed an unexpected pleasure.

29-Jan-2015

In the morning the sun was shining, though the overnight rain had left humidity hanging in the air and mist clinging to the trees.

Mist clinging to the trees, Sinharaja rainforest

Last night’s curry and rice had upset Lynne so she made do with bread and jam, but it had done me no harm so I enjoyed a spicy omelette.

The surrounding hamlet had no shops so travelling tradesmen made morning calls, music blasting from their tuk-tuks. The baker announced his arrival with Disney’s 'It's a Small World After All' while the swelling melody of 'Swan Lake' was a slightly surreal call from the grocer.

A Guided Walk in the Sinharaja Rainforest Park


Ready to set off in unexpected sunshine

Ravi drove us the short distance to the park where we paid the entrance fee (more modest than some we have encountered recently) and engaged the services of a local guide. Intending to walk out for an hour along the main path and then return the same way, the guide was not for navigational purposes but we hoped a park ranger would be able to spot and identify birds and animals we would miss on our own. Sinharaja means ‘Lion Kingdom’ though there are, of course, no lions and the probability of seeing any of the 15 resident leopards was vanishingly small there was still the potential to see much of interest.

Tundu, our ranger, told us was it would not rain that morning. Showing remarkable (and, as it turned out, well placed) trust we returned our rainwear to the car.

We had walked a very short distance when he proved his value, spotting this rather cute female green garden lizard from the far side of the path despite it being camouflaged and motionless.

Green Garden lizard (female) Sinharaja Rainforest

We spotted the very obvious giant wood spider ourselves. Lynne claims that this spider is not horrific because its body and legs are in proportion. Maybe she has a point, but had I blundered into such a web with such a denizen my reaction would probably have involved a little mild panic. This would not be arachnophobia, that is an irrational fear of spiders; according to Tundu this monster's bite is 'slightly poisonous' so my fear is entirely rational.

Giant Wood Spider, Sinharaja

Tundu then saw a male green garden lizard to go with his earlier female.

Green garden lizard (male) Sinharaja rainforest

We followed the track as it rose through the trees, crossing many lively little streams bubblingly full of fresh rainwater.

The Sinharaja Rainforest

Tundu was good on vegetation as well as animals. He showed us bright yellow hibiscus, and spiky lianas and described their uses in traditional medicine. Had Tarzan been a Sri Lankan resident his preferred method of locomotion (which in any case defies the laws of physics) would have shredded his hands.

Looking down I saw something about size of a match torn from a book of matches end-over-ending its way up my trouser leg. I brushed it off. Then I realised there was another on my sock. 'Leeches, ' said Tundu, knocking that one off too. 'Tuck your trouser legs into your socks.'

Here is a picture of some fungi - they are less ugly than leeches

We did as advised. Ravi, who had joined us on this walk, tucked his sharply creased dark trousers into short black socks above shiny black shoes; an incongruously urban look in a jungle setting. Tundu’s leech socks, closely woven and as impenetrable as chain mail, reached almost to his knees We had read about the advisability or otherwise of leech socks before leaving home. 'Leeches can be a problem after rain,' we had learned, which here means always, but we had, naively, assumed that if we were not wading through streams there would be no difficulty; we had not expected them to be tiny things jumping up off rocky paths.

Ravi - a little too urban for the rainforest?

The only other thing we saw before the ridge was a giant millipede, indeed we saw several and I have included Lynne's foot in the picture to indicate its size. I sometimes have difficulty coordinating two legs, how it copes with all those I have no idea.

Giant millipede, Sinharaja

There was a hut on the top of the ridge where we paused to sign the visitor’s book.

In the small tree beside the hut, in an area of full sunlight, Tundu spotted a green pit viper. Curled round the branches a metre or more above our heads it was sleeping in the sunshine. It was not presenting itself well for the camera and showed no inclination to move, but poking a viper with a stick seemed foolhardy. 'It is poisonous,' Tundu agreed, but added reassuringly, 'but a bite would probably not kill you.'

Green pit viper, Sinharaja

We walked along the ridge for another fifteen minutes into a cleared area but saw nothing more of interest except an army of ants rebuilding their nest after yesterday's downpour. 'They do that every day,' said Tundu. 'Wouldn't it be easier to move?' Lynne asked.

Back at the hut the viper was still motionless and we headed down the path, chatting with Tundu as we went. He had lived in the village by the Blue Magpie Lodge all his life and had started working in the forest as a volunteer twenty years ago when he was 13. He joined the park service straight from school and had been trained up as an ecologist on the job. His wife also came from the village and they had a six year old and another child expected imminently.

Tundu showed us a pitcher plant, a carnivorous plant, trapping and digesting its prey in pitcher shaped leaves.

Tundu and a pitcher plant

Lynne and I lingered to look at it as he moved on, then I looked down and saw a large red patch on my sock. At the centre of it was one of those tiny little leeches, now grown to the size of a pencil stub and obviously intent on growing further, and at my expense.

Everyone knows you should not pull off a feeding leech, they leave their mouth parts to fester in the wound, but the traditional method of burning them off with a cigarette was unavailable. 'In the African Queen,' Lynne said, 'when Humphrey Bogart became covered in leeches, Katherine Hepburn removed them with salt.'

Lynne’s handbag contains all manner of useful and unexpected items, including a packet of Thai Airlines salt, removed from a dinner tray a year or two ago and kept for just this situation. What foresight my wife has.

The leech reacted to a bag of salt like the Wicked Witch of the West to a bucket of water, instantly shrivelling and dropping onto the path.

Leech attack - the aftermath
I cannot believe I have just posted a picture of a bloody sock - this blog used to have standards, you know

We had just caught up with Ravi and Tundu when Lynne spotted a Sri Lankan blue magpie. Rare and endemic to this rain forest it is the 'poster bird' for the park and, of course, the lodge we were staying at was named after it. With a raucous cry it flew from the tree behind us, right beside us and settled in a tree just ahead. It could not have behaved better if it had set out to show itself off.

The rain forest had saved its best for last, even if the picture is not my own (thank you Wikipedia).

The Sri Lankan Blue Magpie
(Photo by Thimindu, taken Sinharaja, 2010, sourced from Wikipedia)

We said goodbye to Tundu and drove back to the lodge, hot and sweaty after immersion in the steam bath that was the rain forest.

Lynne says 'goodbye' to Tundu and his impressive leech socks

Although the water heater was off, there was enough warmish water for some sort of a shower. When clean I applied antiseptic to my leech wound which was still bleeding freely; leeches are cunning, their saliva contains an anaesthetic, so the first I knew about the attack was when I saw the bloody patch on my sock, and an anticoagulant, so they can just carry on sucking - and the wound carries on bleeding long after they have gone.

Tuesday 27 January 2015

Ella: Like an English Village - or Maybe Not. Part 10 of Sri Lanka, The Isle of Serendip

Eight years ago today (21-Jan-2015) we were in Sri Lanka. We spent the day in the pleasant village of Ella. The Rough Guide describes Ella as 'like an English village.' I wonder which England the author had in mind.

Scaling Little Adam's Peak, Surveying a Viaduct, and Checking Out the Village


Sri Lanka
When I was young I thought that sleeping under a mosquito net would be very exotic and exciting. The reality has proved rather different, though on this particular night it was Lynne who had the problems, with the net flapping in her face she found the flimsy material becoming strangely claustrophobic.

Breakfast in a small guesthouse was not going to be like a hotel buffet, but the fruit - mango, pineapple, watermelon and banana - that preceded the fried egg was ripe, fresh, local and in every way lovely.

Ravi arrived shortly afterwards. We inquired how his accommodation had been. 'There was no water to wash in this morning,' he replied, then shrugged and added. 'They are poor people in this region, but they do their best.' His words echoed those of the German proprietor of the guesthouse the previous evening.

The Ella Gap


Looking down the Ella Gap at the road we drove up and down to our guesthouse

The main item on the morning’s agenda was the scaling of Little Adam's Peak, soo Ravi drove us back up the road clinging to the side of the Ella Gap and parked at the southern end of the village.

Ella Rock from the top of the Ella gap

The gap is a deep valley, a cleft in the highlands that leads down to the coastal plain. On the western side of the valley, above and behind our guest house was Ella Rock while atop the eastern wall there is a protuberance known as Little Adam's Peak. It is a popular and fairly undemanding climb.

Climbing Little Adam's Peak


Little Adam's Peak, Ella

Adam's Peak itself, some 50km to the west may be only the 4th highest mountain in Sri Lanka but it is certainly the most photogenic. The conical shape of Little Adam’s Peak sitting on the valley wall was, maybe, reminiscent of its much larger namesake.

Southern Sri Lanka
Ella is between Bandarawella and Badulla

Ravi indicated a path leading past a small shop and into the tea plantations. 'The route is obvious,' he said, and indeed with the bulk of the peak rising in front of us way-finding did not look much of a challenge.

Tea Picking

We set off on the level path between the tea bushes. It was a lovely morning; Ella was much warmer than the cool and drizzly Nuwara Eliya but lacked the aggressive heat of the plain.

Through the manicured tea bushes towards Little Adam's Peak

A tea picker with her sack on her back stopped us, suggesting we might like a photograph. We took the photo op, handed over an appropriate tip and continued on our way wondering if she was a tea picker at all, or a professional model of sorts. Rounding a bend we found a gang of pickers working their way through the bushes; our ‘model’ appeared behind us and scuttled down to join them.

Tea picker and part time model, Ella

A little further along, at the base of the protuberance, a set of concrete steps led up the nose of the hill. We thought we should climb them, but some more tea pickers – the next gang along the hillside - shook their heads, indicating that we should continue along the level path.

We followed their advice and after a few hundred meters the path started to zigzag gently up the flank of the hill.

Up to the Summit


The path started to zigzag gently up the flank of the hill
Little Adam's Peak, Ella

It was a steady climb but in no way difficult and in due course we reached a shoulder between two peaks and took a breather before heading for the top.

The shoulder between the two peaks

The views from the summit were impressive.

Looking over the Ella Gap from Little Adam's Peak

Looking towards Ella, Little Adam's Peak

We encountered a group of Spanish girls who asked us to take their photo for them and then took one for us. In the exposed and breezy location the brim of my hat blowing upwards gave the impression that a village in Staffordshire was temporarily lacking its idiot - and now I've put the picture on the internet for all the world to see. Oversharing, or what?

On Little Adam's Peak

We made our way back down to the sheltered saddle, sat down and ate the rambutans we bought yesterday. They were excellent, sweet and juicy.

A good spot for a rambutan break, Little Adam's Peak, Ella

Then we climbed the second, lower peak just for the sake of completeness and started our descent.

The descent, looking down on the hotel which so nearly was swept into the valley in the rainy season

EGB (Elephant Ginger Beer)

Back on the level path through the tea bushes we noticed a sign to a hotel pointing along another path. The climb had been thirsty work, so we took what promised to be a short deviation. Lynne was not impressed when it turned out to be a longer walk than expected and mostly uphill, but she was mollified when we finally arrived and found some clean toilets and a nice deck to sit on with a good view of the hill we had just climbed.

A glass of ginger beer.....

It seemed the moment to try out Sri Lanka's favourite soft drink, EGB - Elephant Ginger Beer. I have always liked ginger beer and as we sat in the warm sunshine, facing the hill we had just climbed, drinking this fine example of a ginger beer we began speculating on whether the it was the British who had given ginger beer to Sri Lanka or the Sri Lankans, who grow ginger in great quantity, who had given it to the British. [It would appear to be a British invention, first brewed in the 17th century in Yorkshire - where ginger grows not at all.]

...and a view back to Little Adam's Peak, Ella

By the time we had finished, made our descent and found Ravi it was time for an early lunch, and had we been in the Far East that is probably what we would have done, but this was Sri Lanka, our routine was by now well established and we would, of course, make another visit and then have a late lunch.

The Demodara Bridge

Unfortunately there is not much to see in Ella once the peak has been climbed. Ravi suggested a tea factory, but it was scarcely twenty four hours since we were at the Pedro Tea Factory in Nuwara Eliya. He mentioned the Nine Arches Bridge though without much enthusiasm, but it sounded good to us, so we set off in the direction of Demodara.

Driving down the small main road we passed gangs of tea pickers carrying their full sacks back to the factory after the morning shift. We were amazed that the company did not have a vehicle doing the rounds to collect them; it would have saved a great deal of time. Ravi observed (again) that these were poor people and their time was cheap. I am no expert, but it seemed to me that continuing with such inefficient and antiquated practices was going to keep these people poor (and is it cynical to wonder if, perhaps, that rather suits the plantation owners.)

We passed tea pickers taking their full sacks back to the factory

We soon turned off into a narrow lane descending into a jungle filled valley. Hitherto Ravi had driven us wherever we went with confidence, but we began to suspect that he had not been here before, and as the tarmac surface disappeared and the road became narrower and rougher he became less and less happy and more and more concerned for his car.

The road became narrower and rougher
The descent to the Demodara Bridge

After much tutting and ooh-ing we reached a small village at the bottom of the valley. Ravi parked in a clearing and co-opted a passing local teenager as guide.

A village house at the bottom of the valley, Demodara Bridge

The lad led us up a steep concrete ramp that Ravi would not have wanted to drive up and then along a narrow path through the bushes. It did not take us long to climb up to the single track railway, a continuation of the line that had brought us into the highlands a few days before.

We walked along the track, passed through a tunnel....

Railway tunnel, Demodara

... and emerged at the Nine Arches Bridge. Almost 200m long it is actually a brick built viaduct that crosses 25m above the valley floor. It looks like many British viaducts, which is hardly surprising as it was built by British engineers in 1921.

Lynne and the Nine Arches Bridge, Demodara

It would have been pleasing to watch a train go over it but our youthful guide told us there were only two trains a day, and neither was due. Nevertheless, we heard a distant whistle so we waited a while, and then a little while longer before realising our new friend was right.

>
I start to walk back with Ravi and our young guide

We made the descent, gave him an appropriate recompense for his time and drove back out of the valley, Ravi being much more relaxed on the return journey as he now knew the worst of what was ahead.

The road back looks so much better

Ella

We returned to Ella and the Café Chill where Lynne went for a cheese and tomato sandwich and a portion of chips. I was not much more local in my choice of chicken and noodles, but the noodles arrived with vegetable curry and an apology that they had run out of chicken - such are the hazards of late lunches.

Ella 'High Street'

After eating we took a more lengthy walk round Ella attempting to find some reason why the writer of the Rough Guide had described it as 'like an English village'. We spotted a small restaurant advertising 'fish and chips', but that apart we found little or nothing to justify the comment.

The Ella chippy?

We did, however, see a restaurant called, in English, 'Something Different'; underneath the sign, in large letters, it offered 'Traditional Rice and Curry'. Well, you would not want to be too different.

Ella

That evening, back at the guesthouse, I returned to more normal Sri Lankan fare with devilled chicken while Lynne had chop suey with chillies. After ten days in Sri Lanka we were resigned to the food being pleasant enough but very same-y. Rice and curry is the national dish, but there are only around half a dozen different vegetable curry dishes of which four will be served at any one meal along with a chicken or (always tough) beef curry. Beyond that there are the 'devilled' dishes; chicken, fish or (equally tough) beef in a sauce like a Chinese sweet and sour with added chillies. Lamprais is just a variation on rice and curry, and then there are the ‘Chinese’ dishes, usually with noodles, which make a pleasant change from rice, but would not be recognised in any part of China we have ever visited.

Ella

Our pleasant, if not exactly memorable meal over, we decided to order a glass of arrack. We had already drunk ginger beer today, the country's favourite soft drink and Lion lager, its favourite (only?) beer, so it seemed appropriate to end the day with a glass of the national spirit. Arrack is distilled from palm toddy, looks as brown as a blended whisky and is sold at 32% alcohol. The premium brand we tried seemed to have little flavour and was too weak to have any fire. Perhaps it says more about me (and, indeed Lynne) than it does about arrack but we found it rather tame.