Roaming in the Highlands

Bandarawela is a small market town about 4,000 feet above sea level.  Up in the highlands of Sri Lanka it’s a lot cooler and there’s quite a lot of rain and mist about.  However, when the sun shines the surrounding mountains, tea plantations and waterfalls are magnificent.  Peace has returned and we like the place so much we decide to stay on for a couple more days.

We’ve seen two waterfalls of note.  The first, the Dunhinda falls is visited in torrential rain.  Our umbrellas protect us from the worst of the weather as we negotiate a tricky and steep path comprising mainly boulders and rocks.  At times it feels as if we are walking down a fast flowing stream as we duck and weave around the soaking wet trees.

After a couple of kilometres we eventually reach the viewing platform beneath the falls. The water crashes down the rock face in a huge torrent throwing up spray and mist that adds to the driving rain.  Ramesh tells us that we’re lucky to see the waterfall in full flow and fuelled by the rain – it’s not as impressive if you walk down in the sunshine.  I’ll take his word for it.

The Diyaluma Falls are 24 kilometres beyond Haputale, a small town that clings to the mountainside at a height of about 5,200 feet.  We’re lucky and the sun is shining and the views are breathtaking. Hills and mountains roll away into the distance and lakes and rivers shimmer in the bright sunlight.  

View of tea plantation and mountains

Tea plantations extend over every nook and cranny of the mountainside and the bright green leaves contrast with the rich red soil before giving way to the jungle and rivers far below. 

The falls are reached by a helter skelter ride which drops almost 3,000 feet on a narrow road that twists and curves down the mountainside, rattles over rickety viaducts and iron bridges crossing fast flowing streams that are swollen by the recent rains.  I can’t look as we teeter on the edge of sheer drops, particularly when we have to pass oncoming traffic or overtake the slower vehicles in our path.  The dreaded sight of a red bus coming down to meet us is a constant fear as their drivers make no concessions as they speed along the narrow road which can barely accommodate two vehicles passing.

The ride is however well worth it when we arrive at the falls which are right next to the road.  The water pours from the plateau above and drops straight down for about 720 feet.  The spray creates rainbows that reflect the sunlight and the sound and sight is awesome.  John gets itchy feet to go climbing in search of a better vantage point.  The huge boulders are wet and slippery but this does not bother John who scrambles and slips his way upwards.  Concerned onlookers point out that the signs warn of the dangers of climbing and some can’t watch and walk on.  I finally convince John that it’s not a good idea and he returns safe if a little muddy.

Diyalama Falls

As we slowly make our way back up the mountain there are a lot of police and vehicles and on enquiry Ramesh learns that there has been a murder although no further details are forthcoming.  Further up, we stop again at one of the little all-purpose shops that are dotted around. Ramesh introduces us to his aunt and uncle and we are invited for a cup of tea on their veranda.  Whilst Ramesh catches up on his family we savour the view and the tea.

We decide that we’d like to take advantage of the good weather and take a stroll. We get dropped off at Diyatalawa about 7 kilometres from Bandalawela.  We set off in the bright sunshine heading off down the best available pedestrian route aka the main train line to Colombo. We check with Ramesh that this will be ok – he is non-committal although his head wobble and ‘maybe’ generally means ‘yes’.

It’s a fabulous walk and the gradient is not too steep so we make good progress as we walk back along the railway sleepers.  We are in the middle of a tea plantation and we can appreciate just how difficult tea picking is as the slopes are steep and the paths between the tea bushes are narrow and rough.  

Tea Picker aka expert bush pruner 

We’re not alone as many locals also use the tracks to move about.  We pass cows tethered next to the single track grazing on the vegetation, washing is out to dry on the bushes and boulders that line the route and the deep rock pools provide excellent bathing facilities.

The line seldom runs straight for more than a few yards and we walk down through cool cuttings hewn from the rock and pass along steep embankments that provide good views of the valley below.  Rounding one bend we see the first major challenge – a tall viaduct spans a steep sided valley. 

Don't look down!

Crossing the rickety bridge does not seem like a good idea.  Old railway planks provide a walkway across but my fear of heights reaches new anxiety levels as we examine the state of repair.  In some places the planks have virtually disintegrated and through splintered holes and gaps I can see the valley below (or rather I could had I opened my eyes!). John assures me that it is safe and walks in front testing the planks and admiring the view. I see none of this as I concentrate on following his feet and when I eventually reach the other side my knees are wobbling. 

By comparison, the next three viaducts are a comparative doddle although I dread to think what would have happened had we met a train coming as we crossed.  In the distance we hear the whistle of an oncoming train and we step aside from the track as it rattles past.  The driver waves, all the passengers hanging out of the windows and doors wave, the guard waves as the train heads past – the warning regarding trespass on the railway is clearly ignored by everyone.

The final challenge is the negotiation of a short tunnel – it’s about 100 metres long and inside its wet and gloomy.  Halfway through I’m convinced I can hear another train and we skip and scamper from sleeper to sleeper in double quick time.  Emerging safely into the sunlight it’s a false alarm but my heart is pounding.

We meet lots of people during our walk and sing out cheery ‘Hellos’ as we pass.  Two little boys stand with their mouths agape at the sight of westeners walking down the railway in the midday sun.  We ask if we are on the right track to Ella which is some 15 kilometres further on.  Nodding, they point in the direction we are travelling looking shocked.

Trespassers on the railway won't be prosecuted

We arrive back in Bandarawela satisfied with our achievements and feeling that we have earned to cool beer we enjoy in the gardens of the hotel.

Journey's End

Having walked the railway we decide to spend a day in Badulla going by train.  It’s only delayed by an hour - pretty good for this part of the world where delays are usually measured in quarter days. A party of 20 preschool kids join us in our 3^rd class carriage for the journey.  Again, the views are superb – the railway is intricately woven into the mountain and at one point we circle a mountain to appear about 50 feet lower than our start point and enter a tunnel through the rock.  It is one hell of an engineering feat. Monkeys, cattle, birds and pedestrians are undisturbed by our passing. The train keeps stopping to unload cargo and shunt trucks and we arrive over 2 hours late in Badulla although nobody seems too bothered.

3rd class ticket was 15p - hanging out of the open door is free

We grab a tuk tuk and go to Ramesh’s sisters for lunch.  We’re introduced to the family including his mum and enjoy a small family gathering.  We’re made very welcome and the two children (girl aged 4, boy aged 2) soon lose their initial inhibitions and become transfixed with the strangers who have appeared in their home. We’re treated to a traditional Sri Lankan curry with all the trimmings. It’s delicious, the best we’ve had so far with spicy chicken, rich dhal, crisp vegetables and fluffy rice.  As usual there’s a mountain of food and I really don’t know how Sri Lankans manage to eat so much.  John decides to go native and eats with his right hand.  This is welcomed by our hosts but is not as easy as it sounds and leaves our hosts smiling and giggling at his efforts.

Green goes native

Finally, a word about the Post Office………………….

I will never ever complain again about queues in a British Post Office after an hour of bureaucracy trying to send a couple of parcels home.  We start with the ‘Parcels’ window – yes we can do this but we must buy stamps.  To the ‘Stamps’ window – there’s no point queuing as nobody else does so we join the scrum hoping we’ll be picked for attention by the lady behind the counter.  We jostle along until our turn comes – she gives us some stamps and points to the desk behind us with its pot of glue.  To the desk, paste the stamps, stick to parcel and return to the scrum.  The lady is satisfied we’ve stuck the stamps on correctly so she gives us some more – desk, paste, stick, scrum, jostle (pick me, pick me) – and then more stamps and the same procedure. Repeat again.  When we’ve stuck the equivalent of a book of green shield stamps to the parcels we are directed to the scrum at the ‘Registration’ window.  A gentleman meticulously takes down all the particulars – sender’s details, addressee, value, stamps and asks for about 3,000 rupees.  Then we take our parcels and chits back to the ‘Parcels’ window and hand them to the custody of the Sri Lankan post office.  It’s taken over an hour and Ramesh is confident that the parcels will arrive in about four day’s time.  We doubt that the parcels will ever be seen again.