Up Country New Years

“So, what do you want to do for New Years?” Dan asked as he helped me do the dinner dishes.

“Well, we just went away,” I started, “And we have to go back to Colombo on the first week of January to go to that Fulbright thing.”

“I know, I know,” Dan conceded, drying a zip-lock bag I had just washed out, “but wouldn’t it be good to do something different for New Years, for our first New Years together?”

“Yes, it would, what did you have in mind?” I asked, repeating my mantra in my head “I like to challenge myself.”

“I thought we could go up to Nuwara Eliya and stay at one of those nice hotels,” Dan replied brightly. Nuwara Eliya was a town invented by the British as a hill station getaway from the summer heat in the early 19^th century. Kandy was situated at 1650 feet. Nuwara Eliya soars above it at 6200 feet in the shadow of Sri Lanka’s highest peak, the 8281 foot Mt. Pidurutalagala.

“And how would we get there?” I asked, carefully articulating every word, trying to conceal the fear in my voice as I grabbed one of my mom’s leftover delivery Chinese food storage containers to clean out. The less than 2000 foot drop from Kandy to Colombo by car was tough on me, the prospect of 4550 feet in elevation change over the 50 mile road, trip terrified me. I knew that it would take three hours to travel those 50 miles.

For me, motion sickness was a cumulative problem. I could handle any roller coaster because it is quick. I could even ride roller coasters all day, but put me in a vehicle on a Third World mountain road or small boat and after half and hour things are going to start to add up. As a result of this condition I have vomited on some of the world’s most stunning scenery including but not limited to Mt. Nemrut in the Turkish hinterland, the Cambodian countryside, and the Cape of Good Hope.

“I figured we’d get a car and driver from Malik,” Dan replied. “Maybe he can get us a good deal on a hotel also,” he added excitedly.

“Ok, I like to challenge myself,” I repeated my mantra out loud, “See what Malik can get for us.”

On New Years Eve morning the driver pulled up in a clean, silver Nissan. When he popped the trunk I saw a huge removable cylinder built into the trunk, indicating this was a natural gas car. “It’s really pretty neat,” Dan explained. “You just pop that cylinder out and fill it up just like our cooking cylinder.”

“I’m sure that’s cheap and easy,” I replied, “too bad it’s basically a bomb on wheels if there is a collision.”

“But look!” Dan replied enthusiastically, “at least there are seatbelts!”

“Great,” I replied sarcastically. Actually, the gas cylinder in the trunk did not really trouble me. I knew that if there was an accident on this road it would all be over no matter if you were in a Pinto or a Volvo.

On the way out of town we saw the chunk of the hill that had pulled away to create a landslide destroying ten shops. Further up into the mountains, we saw another place where a huge section of earth had come unglued. The driver told Dan in Sinhala that 5 people had been killed at this location and five cars had been submerged. Other than to see these two earthslip landmarks, I kept my eyes closed and listened to music my iPod. I did not try to listen to podcasts to occupy my mind, but instead focused my thoughts on relaxing my body. I visualized my body like a bead of mercury, oozing around the corners of a glass manometer as we rolled back and forth around the switchback turns.

My strategy worked well. Dan would try to rouse to me see the tea plantations or a waterfall, but I felt heavy and drugged. Once we reached the town of Nuwara Eliya I opened my eyes and started to get excited. I felt a great sense of accomplishment that I had been able survive the trip intact. “We’re almost there,” Dan told me happily. “Just eleven kilometers out of town to the Tea Factory Hotel.” Once we left town and started to go up more I suddenly realized that I had roused myself too soon. I felt queasy and the car rumbled around an unpaved turn. Then my mouth started to water. I told Dan I needed to get out of the car at that very moment, which he relayed to the driver in Sinhala. I stumbled out next to a leak paddy and leaned against the dusty car sweating. I was able to only hiccup violently and not throw up entirely. After standing in the breeze for a few minutes I felt that I could get back into the car, provided that I could keep my window down for air and as a safety valve. “Just a little bit more to go,” Dan whispered encouragingly.

I was able to relax myself again and make it the rest of the way to the hotel. Once we pulled up to the white timber building all traces of nausea vanished. The five-storey building dominated the terraces of tea around it. The factory had been built in the 1930’s as a drying and withering facility for the surrounding tea plantations. The factory was closed in 1973 and stood unused until 1993, when it was purchased by the Aiken Spence hotel and tour company. The Tea Factory required six years of renovation before it could be opened in 1999 as a part of the Aiken Spence chain.

Wide polished beams with brass joints made the floor of the lobby, the former drying area of the tea leaves. The withering lofts had been made into the rooms. A bellman brought our one little bag up to our cozy room. I was impressed by the clean, cream colored carpet and slate-tile bathroom. “Look at this,” Dan said in a tone of awe, “There’s a heater in here. I’ve never seen in Sri Lanka before. We’re probably going to need to tonight way up here.”

“The blankets look good too,” I commented, assessing the bed. Further inspection of the room revealed a deep garden tub set directly into a floor-to-ceiling window as wide as the bathroom. You could pull the curtain to take a shower, or soak in the tub and look out over the terraces of tea. “Farming is spectator sport here,” Dan remarked as we looked out the window, watching the small herd of Tamil women moving through the rows picking the new tea leaves.

After a tasty lunch we went for a guided walk on the estate. We were to only guests with the lean, dark-skinned, Tamil guide with deep scar on his left cheek. He wore green a canvas jacket and matching pants. “I have been leading walks here for eight years,” he explained as we started down the road.

“How long has the hotel been here?” I asked.

“Eight years,” he replied.

“How has business been lately?” I asked.

“Good. Business is good. Mostly people from Europe,” he answered.

“How long do they stay?” I asked, surprised.

“One night, mostly, then they go on to Yala in the South,” he explained.

“Mostly tours then?” I asked.

“Yes, tours,” he confirmed. As we walked our along the red-clay road a cloud rolled in over us. The terraces of tea disappeared down the hill into the fog. Trails and irrigation ditches vanished ahead of us. “These bushes are 60 years old,” he told us, carefully patting a bush. All of the tea bushes were in full leaf and stood about three feet tall. “Ever six years we cut them back, like that,” he told us, pointing to a section of bushes cut down almost to the ground. After the pruned section we came to a section of new cultivation. “The new bushes are planted here,” he told us. “For the first year they are covered with lemon grass,” he continued. He grabbed some grass growing out of the side of the hill, shredded it, and handed it to us. “Lemon Grass,” he said. I smelled it. It smelled like good Thai food.

“Yup, that’s lemon grass,” I commented.

“After three years the bushes are ready to pick,” he told us.

As we continued on, two local children joined us just before we broke off the road and headed out of the fog and into the forest on a wild buffalo trail.

“Wild cows are a problem,” our guide told us. “They come into the village at night to eat the vegetables.” I could see the buffalo hoof prints in the muddy trail as we continued along under tall conifer trees and thin, delicate bamboo bushes. We came of the forest into a clearing at the edge of a Eucalyptus tree plantation. “Eucalyptus,” our guide said, pointing. “We grow the trees for the oil now,” he explained, tearing down some leaves, shredding them, and putting them in our hands. They smelled like the bath products section of my local hippy-crap store.

“Yup, that’s Eucalyptus,” I commented.

After the Eucalyptus plantation we headed back into the forest. We could hear some crashing around on the ridge above us and we all stopped. I saw two grey bodies bounding through the trees. “Elk,” he told us. A little farther down the trail our guide stopped. “Look,” he said, carefully pointing as though not to offend, “There, a big group.” I stepped up next to him quietly and could see four wild buffalo standing in a small clearing, looking at us quizzically. “They are probably saying to each other ‘look, there’s a big group,’” I remarked. The buffalo did not seem to be in any hurry, so I had time to snap a picture of the biggest one.

We exited the forest back onto a red-clay road and followed it back to the tea bushes. . Dan and I both picked some of the newest, most delicate tea leaves and ate them. They tasted like eating a bush. I could only detect a slight tea flavor as an after taste. The fog was patchy over the tea terraces and the moon was out even though it was only five in the afternoon. The effect was surreal and otherworldly. Shade trees for the tea faded in and out of the fog. Ridges and whole hillsides would present themselves and then disappear. I never wanted to leave the fog. I wanted to wander along the road through the tea with Dan forever.

Suddenly I recognized our surroundings and was disappointed to realize that we were almost back to the hotel. As we came back to the driveway of the hotel I consoled myself with the idea of taking a bath. Back in the room I ran the hot water and poured in the hotel-provided bubble bath. Once I was in the tub I pulled back the curtain to the outside window and watched the sun set violent pink and orange on 2006 through the mist over the cultivated hills of tea.

After my bath I put on my favorite saree and we went down to dinner. The meal turned out to be a nice but rather ordinary buffet affair. We were both exhausted from the two hour trek and long road trip, so at 10 PM we went back up to the room. Even the fireworks at midnight barely roused us. My next conscious thought was awareness of the Green Bay Packers game on TV. “Is that the game?” I asked.

“It sure is,” Dan said proudly. “I knew that if we were going to get it, it would be on now, at 7 AM.”

“Awesome,” I replied, rolling over so I could see the TV. For the next three hours we watched one of my favorite teams, the Packers, beat the hell out of the Bears. It was an excellent way to kick off 2007.

After the game we went down to breakfast. I ate heartily on the premise that if you are going to vomit, it is better have something on your stomach rather than to just dry-heave green bile. “Now all we have to do is go down,” Dan said encouragingly.

“Down is usually way worse than up,” I replied gloomily. For the descent I plugged myself back in and visualized myself as a bead of Mercury again, rolling down, down, down the side of the hills. I know that I missed stunning scenery. I did not open my eyes for waterfalls, or new tunnels being built, or mudslide locations. I relaxed my body and kept my window open for the entire dusty three hour trip and was able to comfortably flow back home.