Arose later than usual, and checked out after saying goodbye to Alison, the Aussie lass. Got a tuk-tuk to Hikkaduwa, another famous beach area. I went with the same Bob Marley loving tuk-tuk driver with the hilarious wolf-whistle horn that I went to Galle with yesterday. We headed off to the joyous summer sounds of Marley, on another death-defying ride through the streets of Sri Lanka.
Arrived after 30 minutes, and walked along the beach looking for accommodation. Found a nice sea view room on the second floor of Hotel Rita for 2,000Rs, so checked in.
Headed off for my customary long stroll to the end of the beach. The sands here are wider, and stretch must further than the natural cove of Unawatuna. The beaches are almost as deserted as those in Tangalle, but there is some more development here. Small hotels and guesthouses give way to villages yet to be bought out, where smiling locals beckon you in for a tea and a chat. I enjoyed my walk, then took to the road for a walk into town and to the post office to post my postcards, shuddering everytime a big bus or lorry thundered past inches from me. I hate walking on roadsides.
Posted my postcards, drew another 10,000Rs from the bank, then walked into an art shop to buy an oil piece, where I met a cool and wacky Canadian chick called Belinda. We had a good chat, then headed off for drinks together at Mambo cafe. We shared our stories of travelling through India – it seemed she had unfortunately fallen for every scam in the book! She was a hippy artist stoner – great to chat to, but someone who would do my head in after too long. I found myself counting how many times she used the word ‘like’ in a minute. “And, like, I was, like, so, like, fucking stoned, like, and, you know, like, what the fuck am I, like, doing in this fucking place….” Her record was 40 in a minute. Regardless, we drank and chatted the afternoon away, watched a sunset, went to find a giant turtle, then headed back to her place for a bottle of Red Rum and a spliff.
Went to a party at a club called Vibrations, which was full of typical beach boy types with white women hanging off them. Shit music, so me and Belinda started rap battles. I was amazed that I couldn’t rhyme anymore. It was my forte in Japan. I couldn’t think of rhymes quickly enough now. My brain was muddled, something was stifling my creativity. She trounced me. We then both tried to score some grass, but this was not the place for a man to ask about such a thing. A woman, however, could get anything she wanted.
I left at 3am, absolutely exhausted, hangover already kicking in. I can’t do it anymore.