Colombo’s best-kept secrets

Colombo’s best-kept secrets

An Oasis in the middle of a city. Barefoot.

Either to drink long glasses of ice tea at its café on a Saturday morning to recover from a hangover from the previous night of debauchery or to chill out and listen to live Jazz on a Sunday afternoon, Barefoot is undoubtedly one of Colombo’s most famous but best kept secrets.

Galle Road is Sri Lanka’s busiest highway as it loops through the southern coast linking Colombo the commercial of capital to Sri Lanka’s other best kept secret, wonderful stretches of coastal towns with long stretches of beach and gin clear waters of the Indian Ocean. On Galle Road in Colombo 3, popularly known as Colpetty awaits Barefoot. A clothing store, art gallery and café. Barefoot is Sri Lanka’s creative Mecca where advertising people, writers, aspiring poets, artists, musicians and the expat community haunt at all hours of the day.

From outside the black and white ‘Barefoot’ logo against the white building with colourful store windows say little to the outside world. One must drive down the lay-by and park in the parking lot at the back. The first surprise is immediate as soon as you walk in through the arched entrance into Barefoot’s garden and café. You leave behind Colombo’s hustle and bustle, hot sun and humidity. A sense of calm and tranquillity awaits you.

The café experience is usually to be savoured unhurriedly after a walk-about inside the Barefoot shop. In the shop awaits a colourful selection of Sri Lankan hand-woven cloth. Sarongs and shirts for men and women, hand woven material, table clothes, handicrafts, antiques of every nature, trinkets and presents for friends abroad. A bookshop that boasts of every Sri Lankan author and every type of book on Sri Lanka.

With it’s long bar, high ceiling fans, the beautiful garden with tables strategically placed for relaxed dining one wonders if this is still the city. A fusion of bright colours, bustling smiling waiters await with blackboard specials for the day. The Kalu Pol Pork Curry is a personal favourite.

What really make Barefoot special however are the people. The ever-affable Sri Lanka’s top chef, colourful personality, wonderfully gay doyen, chubby Kolu who is ever ready to stroll over say hi and chat. The chilled out owner and world renowned photographer Dominic, bustling wife Nasreen are always around again to come over say hello or just simply to help you select something for your house.

Suresh the tailor who will help you choose the right kind of fabric for your curtains and sew them for a reasonable fee has always been a centre of attraction for the hoi polloi of Colombo. In fact even as far away as London, all our house curtains, cushions and chair covers are Barefoot fabrics carefully discussed, chosen and stitched by Suresh. Well placed warm lighting and the wonderful Barefoot colours always uplifts the mood of anyone venturing to our living room on a cold, foggy London morning.

Barefoot, no suits in attendance, calm, tranquil, chilled out. Native Shopping, Fantastic Food, Jazz, and Art exhibitions at the Gallery, Film nights, Colombo’s creative fraternity and much more. The scent of jasmine in the air, aromatic candles, incredible splashes of bright colour, the gentle trickle of water from the koi pond, cool air wafting amongst the garden gently caressing your troubles away, wonderful fusion cooking, the most relaxed shopping experience for a discerning visitor to Sri Lanka.

A true insight to the untroubled life of Sri Lanka and its people’s philosophy. Take it as it comes, always with a smile. A secret that is best shared.

Wild Elephants, Wild Boar and the deep rural South

Wild Elephants, Wild Boar and the deep rural South

A young child stands bare bodied with a grin on his face as he waves at the SUV as we approach. The intense heat bounces off the tarmac in the long smooth road as I squint through its haze tapping the brake to slow down and see what the boy has to offer. He has been in the forest picking up the fallen feathers from early morning, the prize he now waves to us for sale. The bright blue and purple hues of the Peacock feathers wave in brilliant colour as we roll to a gentle stop. A scene I have seen many times on the southern coast stretch from the city Matara to Kataragama. Home to Lord Skanda who is venerated all over in Sri Lanka. A scene my fellow companions from London have never seen, a Peacock in its live glory.

I am taking my friends on a journey that I have made many times in my life. To the home of Skanda in Kataragama, Sri Lanka, 350 kilometres away from the city of Colombo.

Our journey begins past midnight from Colombo. In my opinion the best time to travel, as the nights are cooler, traffic less and as a person who loves quiet long drives the best time for solitude. My companions soon fall asleep, waking only when I pull over almost half way through the journey for my usual nicotine break. I wake them again only close to Kataragama. The morning is chilly as its 4am in the morning now. The full moon bathes the Weerawila stretch of road with its adjacent sugar cane fields in soft light. I have switched the headlights off. The lone wild elephant waits to cross the road, the promises of the sugar cane on the other side. He is nervous of the SUV and us as I am of him. My friends scramble around for cameras, their sleepiness all gone, everyone’s wide-awake. The bravest of the lot demanding to be let out of the SUV to take a better photo. My experience of wild elephants limited to viewing at wild life parks and chance encounters like this on the road demand that everyone stays in the car. I switch on my parking light and roll forward slowly as cameras click furiously inside.

We finally arrive at the Rossen Hotel in Kataragama. After the elephant experience everyone in the car is pumped up, wide awake and our chattering wakes the security guard up and he opens the huge gate leading to the hotel. The staff stir wake, the receptionist still manages to smile brightly at us and cheerfully wakes staff in the kitchen to cook my ravenous companions chips, eggs, toast and pots of coffee and tea. As we head out to our rooms the heated pool beckons invitingly. A mist escapes from the pool and the bellboy informs me that at the request of some visiting tourists the pool water has been heated to exactly 70 Fahrenheit. We are delighted, nip to the rooms, breakfast served by the poolside, everyone’s in the pool. It’s 6am and all the staff is out and about. Bright Sri Lankan smiles, the traditional ‘Ayubowan’ mixed with ‘Good Morning’. The other guests must be annoyed, an impromptu game of tag has the females in our group screaming. The pool lifeguard still sleepy looks on in bemusement. While three of our group stay back in the pool the others accompany me to the Lord Skanda temple.

I drive the SUV through the back and we park behind the temple. The flower vendors clamour for our custom. Especially the custom of my British friends. Incense, Coconut Oil for the lamps, and the traditional Sri Lankan flower - white and pink lotuses. I offer the pooja of light, scent and colour to the Buddhist Stupa and the statue of King Mahasen. My friends help eagerly all excited to participate in everything and enjoy their holiday. The suns up now and all of us are glad for our loose white linen clothes, the bottles of water in our hands and the stiff breeze that blows through the wind swept sandy ground beneath our bare feet. Pilgrims from all walks of life go about their business of worshipping. We get back in the stupa and drive to the Skanda temple. From the white clothes and the pilgrims at the stupa to the incredible fusion and splash of colour at the kovils amaze my friends. Camera’s click constantly.

I grin as we stay for the Skanda pooja, the ritual of cleaning the gods casket and sutra lying in the inner sanctum of the god where no one other than priests are allowed. A large curtain with a picture of the God Skanda and his two consorts cover the entrance. The pilgrims pull on the bells that surround the camphor filled outer sanctum of the temple. I grin as I now see my friends drenched in sweat. They smile, their OK.

We return to the hotel find the rest of our gang still lazing around by the pool. Long showers in our rooms, a late lunch in the hotel and a nap in air-conditioned comfort. The sun blazes overhead now, only a few ventures outside in the deep south of Sri Lanka as temperatures reach the 35 to 40 centigrade at noon. We emerge out of our rooms early evening. Tea, coffee and sandwiches have been served to our rooms. Some of us pile into my SUV, the others into the carefully maintained Land Rover of Suresh, the driver from the Udawalawe Wildlife Park who will accompany us on the short drive from the hotel to and in the park. Especially to see wild elephants. After this mornings experience, I hear my British friends narrating this to Suresh and egging him on to take us as close as possible to the elephants. After one close encounter with a heard of elephants, a friend climbing on to the track much to my annoyance and dismay of the tracker, millions of photographs we leave the park. Everyone is excited talking one to a dozen about his or her experience. In the parking lot I discreetly open the boot of the SUV and surprise everyone with my cooler filled with pint bottles of the best Sri Lankan lager – Lion Lager. We then pile into the SUV and wave our goodbyes to Suresh after much banter about the evening’s elephant experiences. Suresh leaves happy, his wallet much fatter than when the evening started.

At the top of the road on the turning to Udawalawe begins my friends experience to the wild side of Sri Lanka’s deep south. We stop at my favourite roadside restaurant. I discreetly inquire if the night’s fare includes ‘Meat’. We are lead to a table, wild boar curry, venison, and Potatoe curry in coconut gravy with freshly baked bread. All washed down with Sri Lanka’s fiery Ginger Beer and more Lion Lager. The night is cool now as we finish. We make one last procurement stop in Tanamalwila for the best and freshest green before returning to the hotel late at night. Deep in the jungles of Tanamalwila away from preying eyes there lies farms that rival any produce even grown in the jungles of Jamaica. A discreet smoke by the poolside puts everyone in the mellow but party mood. I have carefully packed the rest of it away in the bottom of a cane basket containing fresh green oranges on the top for the remainder of our holiday. Midnight and everyone’s at the hotel bar singing karaoke and drinking numerous numbers of Sri Lanka’s arrack and cokes. In a couple of hours I stagger to bed as we have a long drive ahead of us. I do not forget to drink a huge glass of chilled king coconut juice, Sri Lanka’s best hangover remedy. My friends I know will party on until the wee hours of the morning.

The soft sound of the A/C and the far way sound of my friends singing Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen at the bar lulls me to sleep. An end of another day of holiday in Sri Lanka. I dream of the day that awaits us. Hikkaduwa, more Lager, fresh Seafood direct from its source, Sun, Sand and Sea.

Surfs up, anyone? White linen shirts, shorts, Speedos, fresh white cotton sheets dried in the sun, sun tan lotion, flip flops, go to Sri Lanka.

The most beautiful girls in the world

The most beautiful girls in the world

“She clings to me

Her hair, like fire streams behind us

Sleek, black, shiny

As she hugs me tight

I know that my mistress

Has fulfilled her

Tight jeans, wet

Her firm pert breasts rub through the thin cotton shirt

On my back

She screams, ‘faster, faster, faster’

I turn up the throttle

They both come together

180mph

I am the man who rides them

Fulfils them

I am god”

In loving memory of Pemraj Amal Peiris. Best friends in life and death.

My first memory of bikes were the Suzuki TS125’s on display near the Bamabalapitiya bus stop. Sleek gleaming colours, the proud trail bikes standing tall with their circular gas tanks and the stand up handlebars. Barely a teen, making my father promise that my 18th birthday present would be one. I still remember then when the rupee was valuable they seemed dear at a mere Rs.13,000 each.

Consequently the bike craze that spread like wildfire through Colombo. My childhood hero’s; Dallas Martenstyn, Milinda Halahakoan and Tissa Wimalasekara. The races in Katukurunda when we used to just remove the muffler from Lucky’s KH125 or my dad’s Mark11 and just track them.

At a mere 16 years, when my dad refused permission for me to travel to Nuwara Eliya, locking my bedroom door and having the domestic boy shave my head bald in protest.

Soon the norm, all the accidents. Leading to complete parental refusal to even consider buying a teenage son a trail or road bike.

Pemba’s subsequent entrance to personal wealth through flying for Air Lanka. His Yamaha DT175, Suzuki RM125 and the Honda 200R. Flying down Duplication road on the RM, and shifting from first to third on a wheelie. Back wheelies in front of innumerable Colombo all girl schools. Ruvin’s XL250s, Nauzers Yamaha RD200 and the best bike of all the RD350. Black and red, purring powerfully as I would showboat on the Viharamaha Devi Road stretch or all around Independence Square.

It was cool to slip and slide, fall. Bruises and bandages were a part of attaining manhood, to be gasped at and admired by your peers and the young Ladies College birds hanging out at Otters (Otters was cool then).

In memory, Ruvin died on his XL, people had serious accidents, limbs were broken and I settled with my dad for VW Beetle as my entry to 18 years of life. The posters of Barry Sheen and Kenny Roberts still shone from my bedroom wall but my dreams of owning a mobike fast disappeared to borrowing friends bikes and riding around town unknown to my parents.

Life was cool then. You fell, you went to the accident ward and you were treated. The millions of bikes ridden, the millions of falls and finally shepherded off to college in the US to stay out of trouble by anxious parents.

The devastating day when I received the call from a sibling with the news that Pemba had crashed and moved on to race with the gods in the sky. The sorrow and grief.

Living in the USA was similar to bike heaven with every kind of bike imaginable. Murali’s Kawasaki Ninja and my initiation and love affair with Harley Davidsons, the most beautiful girls in the world. My dreams of owning a bike still unfilled due to the simple fact of being a miserably poor student, but always riding and dreaming, one day I will own my own beast bitch – a Harley.

Forty now and I still ride, but still no Harley, but one day you beautiful bitches, I will own one of you, ride you, tame you, ride with you to the gods in Valhalla where I hope I will meet Ruvin and Pemraj again, and ride.

Ride on our girls with the sun beating down on gleaming asphalt, the wind streaming through our hair, as young teenagers stand by the road and watch and go, there go the gods and wish they were one of us too.