The end of last week was supposedly exam time for the teenage monks of Galle. Supposedly because they said that they weren't going to have our English class from Tuesday through Friday so that they could study, but when I came to help out with the younger class on Tuesday morning and there was a cute American girl helping out, they suddenly had no studying to do. Can't say I was surprised, what they have in holiness they severely lack in work ethic. Laziness seems to be the main tenant of their lives, which they display by not showing up to class, refusing to do work and at times just being a bunch of little shit heads.
As I had nothing to do for the rest of the week I decided to make a trip up north to meet up with a traveler I had met a few weeks prior, named Kiron. An interesting English fellow, he had quit school half a dozen years ago, been more or less traveling ever since and was going back to college in September. The idea had been to meet in Ella, the tea country and trek around there for a few days before he headed off to India and I to the city of Kandy. From Kandy I would go a visit some famous cultural site before heading up north to the city of Jaffna. Jaffna had recently been opened to public traffic after being closed off for many years due to the civil war which had just ended last winter. The story I was told by the locals, and which makes some sense given what I have read, is that the general of the Tamils, the group trying to break away had tried to surrender but the Army killed him on the spot and ever since there has been peace. Don't quote me on that, it's just the story I've heard. Anyways that last part fell through because foreigners still need permission from the Ministry of Defense and I don't have the connections to make that happen.
So on Wednesday morning I found myself on another all day train ride from Galle to Colombo to Ella. Again the scenery was breathtaking. Flat jungle and rice paddies leading up to steep hills and mountains where the train clung to the side, the land falling away nearly vertically, giving brief glimpses of villages and farms a thousand meters below. As we climbed into the hill country the air cooled and several of us stood at the doors enjoying every second of the first cold air felt in some time. The landscape also changed, the leafy palms and massive palm-like shrubs gave way to tall stands of pine trees not unlike those found in Northern California. Though they seemed to much taller and narrower and beneath them was thick cover of tall grass several feet high, swaying in the wind. Later we came upon stands of tall birch trees and also a plethora of streams that gushed downwards over flat rocks, forming waterfalls by the dozens. After twisting along the mountain sides and plunging through black tunnels that filled with the engine's smoke, we came upon an endless valley filled with small hills wrapped in neat hedge like rows of tea bushes.
I arrived sometime in the night and after getting a quote from the Tuk-Tuk drivers for 100 rupees to take me into to town I guessed that it couldn't be more than a kilometer and so I set off with a map that I had copied down from the Lonely Planet guide. The first place on my list was full and right as I was about to head to the second, a group of five French backpackers came in by Tuk-Tuk, looking for a place to stay. The owner ran up to me and gave me directions to another possible place to stay and from there the race was on. Luckily, I had the upper hand because the Tuk-Tuks carrying the Frenchmen were forced to circle around the base of a hill and back up to the next guest house, while I simply cut through a side yard to the backdoor. I arrived and was told that there was no room, but dinner was about to be served and there was room next door, at her sister's place. On this one hill in Ella there were three guest houses owned by a trio of sisters and I ended up in the smallest - a house with just two rooms for let but with a patch of tea plants in the side yard. The owner would harvest and then bring the leaves to the factory every year and the tea was simply phenomenal. I do not know how to properly describe what a great tea tastes like but let's just say that if you took the flavors found in your average cup of black tea from the states and then multiplied it by ten - you would have something close to this tea. Now if you could get a pot of it for 30 Sri Lankan Rupees (25 cents) that would be even better.
On the afternoon of my first day, when I was reading and the owner brought over a pot of her tea and we got to talking about all of the tea plantations in the area and how tea was made, etc. About fifteen minuets after we finished talking, she came back and brought with her the gardener/handyman/housekeeper and announced that I should go with him up to see the plantation where his family worked and lived. He spoke about as much English as I do Sinhalese, that is to say we could mutter hello, goodbye and about a dozen words in between. Experience has taught me that when the language barrier comes into play it can either be very frustrating or lead to a nice little adventure. Since no money was involved here, I was guessing for some sort of the later. My guide, whose name I can only remember started with an S, was the proud owner of the longest ear hair I have ever seen. The shock of hair atop his head was garish-white and his pencil thin mustache was dotted with grays, but out of his ears shot only black hair like a thick, stiff row of wheat. I've seen some interesting ears in the past month - the head monk is perfectly bald but for handful of curly cues coming from his - but doesn't stand up to the ears of my guide for the afternoon. I swear he must have combed them every morning, that's how perfectly they stood at attention.
We climbed upwards on a well paved road (the only place I've great roads in Sri Lanka has been in the tea country) past the turnoff for a scenic hike I'd done earlier in the day and into the forested hills where the way was lined with a single row of evenly spaced and massive birch trees. We followed the road for a handful of kilometers until coming upon a sign for the 'Finlays Newburgh Estate' and arrows pointing straight ahead for the 'Office,' 'Tea Factory,' and 'Bungalows.' First came the Factory. All we got to see was guard house which stood in front of a winding road to a tree encased factory with a green barbed wire fence running the length of the property. A Sri Lankan guard met us at the entrance wearing a khaki uniform complete with shoulder stripes, a walkie-talkie and a blue hat with stripes and a red 'LA' Dodger's logo. When I began asking him questions, mostly along the lines of, "Can I visit the factory?" He simply pointed at a sign which read, "VISITORS WITHOUT PERMISSION WILL NOT BE ENTERTAINED" I was not entertained.
The man with the ear hair led me further upwards into the hills to the Office. Here I was not entertained either. Despite the fact that his son worked there, as did his family and they lived the Finlays 'Bungalows,' No permission was given. For USD$20 I could go and visit a black tea factory a few hours a way, but I was not to be allowed into the green tea factory. When the question of why came up I was told that there are, "Many reasons." None of which I was given the privilege of knowing. In the heat of the moment, I forgot to take a picture of the Estate's Mission Statement which was posted in several places, but I distinctly remember that 'fair wages and working conditions for employees' was fourth on the list. Among the things that came before included protecting the environment and the usual corporate jargon. I was told by my hairy friend that the workers made 300 rupees a day (roughly 110 rupees to USD$1), another later said 500. Either way enjoy, that cup of tea.
Next we journeyed across the hill to the 'bungalows' which in Finlays terms translates to a long bunker divided into 'bungalows' by concrete walls. The living spaces are three rooms - a front room, living room/bedroom and kitchen. The living room is pitch black in the absence of artificial light and the others aren't exactly airy. The doorways and shutters are the same forest green as the Finlay's sign and the residences are distinguishable only through the jagged lines marking the end of one family's paint job done to their front wall and the start of the next. Even for Sri Lanka, these accommodations were sub par and were made to seem even more so by the quality of roads in the area and the sophistication of the layout of the tea fields - perfectly neat rows, red brick retaining walls and cobblestone paths. In a dirt field near the village a dozen kids play a game of cricket. Taking turns pitching and hitting, occasionally momentarily suspending play by belting the ball into some far off bush, it reminds me of countless pick up baseball games back home. No real differences, just kids playing after school.
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