Colombo airport is a sea of people, even at midnight. This is Asia, right? A “tourist police” office is manned. The uniform is assuring, while the officer phones my chosen hotel to confirm arrival.
He walks me to an official taxi rank called Pick Me. I give my name to the young co-ordinator, and the tourist policeman leaves without hanging around for a possible tip. Hours later, in daylight, I investigate ways of moving around Sri Lanka.
Bus, train, taxi, tuktuk (three-wheeler, noisy but everywhere) . . .
such are my modes of moving anywhere beyond a walk. You hardly need me to advise that the island, just north of the equator, is invariably humid. Walk only short distances.
Cloud cover and breezes can make it more comfortable so, depending on your strength, fitness and age, you can enjoy strolling. I do also see lots of bicycles and motorbikes progressing at speeds ranging from excessive to frenetic. Don’t go there, I say.
Leave those two modes to locals who are accustomed to negotiating busy streets and competing for parking spaces. There are plenty of routes and services. Colombo Fort, the main hub, has ticket windows.
The numbering system seems confusing at first, but you need only ask. There are information offices signposted in English. An electronic noticeboard lists destinations, platforms and departure times.
I want to go to Beliatta, just inland from Tangalle, on the far south coast. “Let’s splash out on first class,” I tell myself. The fare, for a 180km.
