Sayonara Sri Lanka

Wednesday, January 2, 2019

We have about twelve hours of sleep under our belts after our poor showing last night, so today we are making all the moves.  After a quick breakfast and packing our bags for our final stop later that afternoon, we hopped in a tuk-tuk and headed to Dalawella beach to get one of the famous beach swing pics for the gram.  We had this beautiful beach pretty much to ourselves for about an hour.  Some Sri Lankan guys were securing the beach swing, so Carly and I grabbed some morning beers while waiting for the swing resistance test.  There is no way I’m coming home from this trip broken (again), so I’m taking all the precautions for the home stretch.  We both took a few turns having a Sri Lankan guy push us on the swing while we did our basic bitch photo photo shoot.  We threw him some rupees for his tensile strength troubles and walked down the beach in search of more beers.  For some reason it took me two weeks before drinking my first Sir Lankan beer, but now the gloves are off and that shit is hitting the spot.

We headed back to Unawatuna beach and negotiated a private glass bottom boat for the afternoon.  I use the term “negotiation” loosely, as the price differential in play for any service in Sri Lanka is typically under $5 USD, so you look like a legit ass hole for arguing with a broke ass tuk-tuk driver over a fucking quarter.  Our New Years Eve tuk-tuk driver actually called me out on it by asking me “isn’t the difference like ten cents to you?”.  I tipped him extra for having the balls to call me on my shit.  I have since been resisting the urge to negotiate aggressively, but the Jew in me just can’t help it most of the time.  To be fair, I just end up adding whatever they knock off the price to their tip.  It’s not about the money at all.  It’s about the win.

I ran up to a beach bar and bought some beers for our little boat trip.  Two of my cardinal rules while traveling are (1) Always get on the boat, any boat, and (2) never (EVER) get on a boat without booze. We took the boat to a small bay called “Jungle Beach”, which was very disappointing as far as beaches go.  Our boat driver gave us some snorkel gear, but I’ve seen more exciting aquatic landscapes at a Petsmart, so Carly an I focused on floating and drinking.  You all know my thoughts on snorkeling – it’s a boring, sobering, peasant’s sport.  I just can’t get excited about some dead coal and a few rainbow-colored fish.  And on the off chance I see something cool like a baby shark or an eel, I spend the rest of the time with Jaws anxiety.  I’ll be up on the surface chugging my beer, thank you very much.  We headed out to another lackluster snorkeling spot and continued to swim, drink and tan before heading back to shore.

Beer swim at Jungle Beach

We decided to have a late lunch at our hotel restaurant, Kingfisher, before continuing north on our beach tour of Sri Lanka’s south coast.  Lunch was fucking painful.  We waited an hour and a half for our food, I bitched out a waiter, Carly finally got some lobster.  We hopped in our pre-scheduled taxi and headed up to our next and final stop of the trip – Bentota beach.  This is where shit gets fancy.

I decided to completely blow Carly’s teacher budget and spring for a beautiful boutique villa-style hotel on a vast secluded beach for our final few nights in Sri Lanka.  I knew she would thank me later once the sticker shock wore off.  Let me paint you the picture of our white trash arrival.  Carly and I pulled up to this fancy ass hotel still in our bathing suits, hair wet and tangled, and beer on our breath.  We were given a tour of the property, which includes an in-house art gallery, adorable hidden sitting areas, a bar straight out of Martha Stewart’s shabby chic wet dreams, and a beautiful pool set in a lush garden, separated from the beach only by the historical Sri Lankan costal railway track and a cluster of palm trees.  I’m pretty sure the staff were praying our parents would arrive.  Operation treat-yo-self has officially begun.

We took a nice long beach walk as the sun was setting down a vast and pristine stretch of sand.  I patted myself on the back for an excellent ending our vacation on a high note.  We skipped dinner and went to bed at 8:30 pm.  One of my 2019 resolutions is to actually skip a fucking meal or two this year, so no time like the present to start.  There is literally nothing to do in Bentota that is of interest to us except for complete and utter relaxation over the next two days.

Thursday, January 2 – Friday, January 4, 2019

We need to talk about breakfast at the villa.  I normally lack the patience for long breakfasts on vacation, but since the only thing on our agenda for the day is a beach walk and some serious pool time, I could actually appreciate the amazingly symphonic three-course, never-ending breakfast that this swank hotel provides.  So this is how rich people start their day, huh?  I would be such a pleasant human if I woke up to this treatment each morning.  Since I detest both fruit and hot beverage, Carly made out like a bandit with two plates of fruit and a truly bladder-cringing display of coffee, tea and juice.  In turn, I picked up her slack on the bread basket.  Hence the reason she gets to post bathing suit pics while I keep it to boobs and up.   Turns out that there is a food that tastes as good as skinny feels, and that food is the warm homemade banana bread muffins at our villa.

Since our breakfast took about two hours, we had no choice but to take our morning beach walk in the blistering hot sun and then reward ourselves with a day at the pool. We went for another beach walk around sunrise and found a cute restaurant where we met a nice man named Pradeep who was trying to sell us some tours.  As we haven’t been let down by a Pradeep yet, we took it as a sign and booked our final transfer to the airport tomorrow with him.   If anyone is getting me out of Sri Lanka in one piece, it’s a man named Pradeep.  Back at our hotel, Carly’s mom pointed out via facetime that I had incorrectly translated our flight time of 20:20 into 10:20 and therefore booked our transfer for two hours too late.  We legit would have completely missed our flight.  Fucking amateur hour, I know. But I do detest having to perform a mathematical calculation just to figure out the fucking time.  Anyway, all is well that ends well, close call avoided.

The next morning was basically a repeat of the day before, except we learned our lesson and did our beach walk bright and early before breakfast before the sun took over.  And oh boy did that decision pay dividends.  While enjoying our leisurely stroll on our deserted stretch of beach, my eyes glanced over to a row of palm trees where I noticed what looked like a man in white underwear standing in the brush.  Confused as to if he needed help, I squinted him into focus only to find a fucking pervert jerking his elephant trunk.  Not sure if he was wacking it to the sunrise, or to the American girls walking down the beach, or maybe he has a thing for stray beach dogs.  This is probably where I should say I screamed and ran, but I just laughed my ass off and pointed him out to Carly.  I did eat a massive amount of bacon at breakfast later that morning.  I have zero comment on whether the two events are related, but I hope for the sake of my subconscious that they were not.

We spend the day by the pool until Pradeep came by to pick us up.  The ride to the airport through Colombo was a fucking traffic nightmare, but we made it to the airport and home without anything significant to report.  Carly and I both agreed, this was one of our favorite trips ever.  Sri Lanka makes the top five, it’s official.  Please hurry and go before the rest of America catches on and ruins it, like we do with everything.  We just can’t have nice things.


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