The Golden Mile

Strolling down the winding roads of Mount Lavinia barefoot on account of how a homeless drug addict stole my flip flops….

Named after a pretty lass, Lovinia during Sir Thomas Maitland’s stay in Ceylon, Mount Lavinia’s genesis of forbidden romance and allure now goes by its fame for laid back tourism and salty night life.

The morning beach activity had already begun by the time we reached the beach at 1.30 a.m. for our promenade. The sun shone, not too brightly and the sky held on to a few clouds making the morning pleasing to the eye. Students from the nearby schools were out on the beach doing their morning fitness exercises. Many others engaged in various exercise regimes. The solid yet shifty sand proved a better area for strenuous practice. Muscles not used to walk on solid ground were more or less used to tread the rough sand. Locals jogged, walked and ran closer to the waves where the ground was a more firm workable platform.

We met two lasses who were walking their Great Dane. By definition the dog was a “Great” Dane in how the two were holding on for dear life while being dragged behind by the Dane. Its head was roughly equal in diameter to that of a car tire. Again, giving high emphasis on the “great”, I imagined washing a very energetic tuk tuk in order to maintain this giant.

The mornings at the beach are relatively different to the evenings. The atmosphere is calmer with people seeking to begin a day, rather than to end it. Broken bottles, plastic and anonymous litter, all wreckage from the previous night, scatter the stretch of yellow gravel. Seasonally speaking, the sea is only swimmable during some parts of the year, but that day, it was the same as the evenings, rough and rumble. There were hardly any people swimming.

We walked towards Dehiawala, with the sea on our left and the bars and restaurants to our right. They were mostly closed except for maybe La voile Blanch which served Breakfast on the Beach. The goodies are sure to be more alive towards the evening hours. A rather unamused looking chap, sold “kohila kanda”, a creamy brown ooze made by a type of potatoes with hakuru which hit the morning bundi grumbles just right. Grub wise, none of the evening joints of marinated fruits and manioc chips were seen.

The sea shore didn’t hold as many treasures as I had expected. In comparison with the East Coast of Sri Lanka, the West had lesser sea shells, rock formations, bits of coral that Neptune saw fit to spare for the two legged mortals. I found a somewhat large squid’s mantle, locally known as a “dali poththa”. It reminded me of a miniature surf board and for a living and swimming dalla, it most probably was. My grandmother who hails from Down South tells me that it is used to clean school blackboards during her day.

I managed to collect only a handful of sea shells. The barnacles, to my dismay refused to budge, putting a stop my attempt to force-pluck a few to take back home and paste on my bathroom walls and the fridge.

Further down, some wooden structures only a few feet tall stood side by side with a sign bored that said “Cabins”. Combing the sand was a cheery fellow with a bandana whose conscious I had to tap to know about the sign.

“We hire for couples to come and look at the beach. 300 Rupees morning 8 to evening 3.” He said in good English. Pointing at the structure next to it he continued “We will open for the season with food”.

The structures were about 4 ft tall and wide. There were about 12 in total with a few closed and the rest open facing the beach. The closed area which I assume was where the high end of socializing at the beach happened.

He spoke of his concerns towards the beach and the pollution he clears away every morning. He says that people leave all sorts of things from the evening before but respective beach plot owners try to clean the areas near and around their places. As if on cue, a man walks by us, one hand holds a cardboard box and the other, a black garbage bag. He greeted our little group with a wide toothless grin and beckoned to the Bandana Man to which he replied “man lassthi karala thiyannan. Passé enna.” (I’ll keep it ready. Come later)

He then went on to tell that this man make his living collecting most of the garbage from the shore and selling it to a recycling plant. Then goes onto help fishermen get ready for the day. I was touched at the persistence and determination of this man (dumb by birth) to leave an eco print.

Picture by N De Silva

Just as the Bandana man was explaining about the murky backdrop of the local drug addicts who steal shoes off  people, I realized that I no longer had my slippers in my hand. Oh well, easy come, easy go. Side note – if left unattended, slippers will be stolen by homeless drug addicts to be re-soled for 100’s – 200’Rs per pair.

With the increase of every trodden mile away from Lavinia, so did signs of abuse and mistreat. The beach line was scattered with sewers and large piles of inorganic waste next. Here in the unnoticed part of the Mount Lavinia coast line, mounds of waste and plastic strive.

Picture by N De Silva

Children out of Slumdog Millionaire emerged out from inside tiny wooden structures next to the sewage lines, waving and whistling at us seeming quite immune to the effects of the effluence. We waved back and took photographs of the little creatures because they posed so well, doing dramatic Bollywood bad-ass postures.

From where we were then, we could see our destination on top the tiny little rock/island protruding from the main beach about 15 ft away, led up to it by a slim stretch of sand. Parallel to the Dehiwala market, the shrine marks the end of the Golden Mile. Depending on the moods of the tide, the sea usually envelopes the island leaving only knee deep wading space to it. Hoisting our cameras and gear over our head, we managed to climb the barnacle infested rock to be greeted by the shrine. Housing as many of the local gods and goddesses of Sinhala and Hindu origins in its 8 or 9 compartments, the shrine is a circular dorm shaped structure with a diameter of about 10 ft. A sign in Sinhala informed us that it was a religious place and not a random rock to make out on, not in so many words but a rough idea.

The far side of the rock looked over the sea with waves crashing on it and leaving small puddles of sea water behind in which the barnacles and sea weed mutually agreed to inhabit. The rock surface is uneven, covered with moss but ‘walkable’, the slippery sides not so. Getting on and off requires steady feet and steadier tail bone for the technique involves first setting the butt firmly on the side, then hoisting the rest.

Man made noises were minimum to none on top of the rock, although civilization was only within eyeshot. It was 9.30 a.m. on the clock when we decided to descend and head back towards front line of the Golden Mile.

Breakfast at the Ivory Inn was good. Tradition toast and marmalade, a heavy omelet, coffee, a refreshing papaw awaited us at the inn.

I’d recommend Ivory Inn to anyone who loves a woody ambiance mostly of a pleasing brown and fine breakfast.

(Moments captured by N De Silva and myself. of which some I've misplaced. For example, of the SHRINE. Blond moment. urgh. N caught everything on lense.But heck, use your imagination. =P )