Galle is reachable for a day trip, yet far enough to escape the Colombo life. The sort of journey that has medicinal properties.
The better part of the deal is that Mrs Cerno loves to chariot – particularly on long trips. This results in a heavenly arrangement with her at the wheel of the Aston Martin and me sipping an eggplant curry martini (an acquired taste). My responsibilities during these trips include adjusting the volume of the 3 songs YFM plays that day, passing snacks without spilling and and keeping the conversation witty enough for spousal unit’s high standards.
There are interesting things to look at in the fort which I’ve blogged about earlier. The place is quiet on weekends. Walking lets you stretch paws cramped after a long drive. The route meanders through the hush of Law Court Square past the Galle Literary Festival’s Graffiti Wall and onto the Seaward ramparts.
The vagabond of the seas who has barged in on the ramparts seems ready to stay. The picture below gives an indication of its girth. A blog post from a previous visit has some background details on this thing.
After a cheap lunch its time to get out of the sun and use the facilities. Spousal unit has high standards when it comes to clean toilets. That means pulling into the Lighthouse hotel. Feeling a bit guilty about free loading, we order a rather pricey coffee & tea (for her) and watch the waves. The caffeine fix being essential for the ride home. Their coffee is rather good and they give you an plunger full of it. Enough to last the afternoon if you sip slowly. The seaward facing veranda is a good place hiding place from the afternoon sun.
We sit in the breeze talking and ignore the clock. Until we notice the sun getting golden and week-ending Colombo types making an appearance. Time to flee.
Cerno is not trusted with the Aston Martin so I get to lean back without fear as Mrs C zig-zags through the traffic. Most people would require a stiff drink or an anaesthetic. Cerno however has adapted quite quickly.
To the left the sun flashes through curtains of beach-side trees. My ancient little digital doesn’t have a hope of doing justice to the effect. I took these futile pictures to remind me of the memory.
I suppose by this point I should conclude with to some sort of point. Which is that travel no matter how undramatic has something very sublime. Lets you notice intangibles that are meaning less when put into words.