I realise that we are back home in Western Australia but I couldn’t resist the urge to at least attempt to document our last twenty four hours in Colombo before those memories slip from my addled brain.
Wind back to last Saturday morning………
………….As the sun slowly streams around the edges of the floor to ceiling curtains, I’m finding it hard to stir from the depths of our king size wonder bed. I could get used to staying at our suite at the Galle Fort Hotel.
With only a day left for Chelle to maximise her retail therapy we were off with the aid of yet another intrepid tuk tuk driver to Paradise Road. No not the Australian film, starring Glenn Close about a group of women in a Japanese Prison Camp but Paradise Road, an upmarket home-wares store. As we weaved our way through traffic I could swear we were going in the wrong direction but as our driver’s english was almost unintelligible, when I queried him all he did was nod yes, yes, Paradise Road. As we’d already agreed to a set fare for the day, there was nothing left but to sit back and watch the world whizz by. Then we were there, not at the small gallery store I remembered but the bigger store. Chelle was in heaven. After spending $$$ at PR last time we were in Sri Lanka she was determined to pick up some more bargains, me I was happy to pick up some more elephants. A man can never have enough elephants – at least that’s my motto.
Next stop the Dutch Burgher Union, what’s a Burgher?, No, I’m not talking about the two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun type of burgers but an actual Burgher. Burghers are the direct male descendants of the European colonists of Sri Lanka. When the Portuguese first arrived in what was then called Ceylon in 1505, as there was no women in the Portuguese navy they ended up marrying local Sinhalese women. Then in 1640 when the Dutch kicked the Portuguese out, they continued the practice of inter-marriage. Once the British took over in 1796, they differentiated themselves from those Dutch migrants & those of mixed descent by calling them Dutch Burghers, to distinguish them from the locals. In fact the British even legally defined them as a separate ethnic group in 1883. Most Burghers have European surnames (of Portuguese, Dutch or British origin) such as Pereira, Fernando, Jansz or Van Doort – any lightbulbs going off yet? Or maybe even Arndt…. Ah now you know my interest in this subject.
Anyway after instructing our driver that we wanted the Dutch Burgher Union, to which he responded Old Dutch Hospital, even though I wouldn’t mind some more fresh crab, I repeated Dutch Burgher Union. Luckily I had the address, that should make it easier or so I thought until we pulled up at some shopping complex and he looked at us hopefully here?, shaking my head Um, no not here, almost pleading not here?, staring back at him no. Looking around his face lit up & he grabbed my hand – of course if you’re looking for the Dutch Burgher Union why not ask the manager of the local McDonalds. Standing under the Golden Arches with an equally bemused McDonalds employee, I suddenly remembered I had the DBU’s phone number. After some garbled instructions we were off again.
Minutes later safely in the right place, it was time to sample the food at the VOC Cafe, in particular Lamprais. I may have described it earlier, but Lamprais (a Burgher speciality) is savoury rice, accompanied by traditional meat curries, together with Frikkadels (breaded Dutch meatballs), Brinjal Pahe (Eggplant curry), Blachan (Spicy Shrimp Paste), Fried Ash Plantains and Seeni Sambol, wrapped in a banana leaf and slowly steamed. Whilst the cafe isn’t packed with dinners there is a roaring trade in deliveries with a never ending stream of trishaw drivers picking up packs of over a dozen orders of Lamprais and Rice Packets at a time. It is worth every finger licking mouthful but you need to get in quick before its all gone.
The Dutch Burgher Union building itself is like going through a time warp back to the colonial days. The low-lit chandeliered ballroom, the amazing wooden balconies, the high ceilinged bar replete with a massive antique snooker table. I can imagine myself sitting back in one of the vintage lounge chairs sipping a gin & tonic whilst the staff glide around keeping track of the billiard’s score or retrieving errant darts, with a week old copy of The Times in front of me. It is in these dusty rooms that there are the rows of glass cabinets that hold the books of paternal lineage that determine who is and who is not a Dutch Burgher, with a self satisfied smile I tell Chelle that amongst those yellowing pages is a book that details my family tree. I’m seriously contemplating paying the Rs 20,000 joining fee and becoming a member, it feels like I’ve come home. Especially given the fact that my grandfather’s name is proudly displayed on the WWI honour board, together with a number of other distant relatives on other associated memorabilia around this hidden gem.
Finally dragging myself away from the DBU (I’m sure that they wouldn’t minded if we’d stayed for the Valentine’s Day dance that evening – though I probably wouldn’t have met the dress code), it was time for one more long soak in the four posted marble spa that dominates our hotel suite.
We decide, actually I decide, that we need one more authentic curry hit (just to ensure that every pore in our skin emits exotic spices for the next couple of days), so based on the recommendation of my little brother, we head off to Raja Bojun. It’s supposed to have the best range of genuine Sri Lanka curries in the City, so despite the fact that we had to cross a series of ongoing roadworks, then head down a narrow corridor to the back lobby of the Seylan Bank, we weren’t disappointed and they had EGG HOPPERS! I can’t believe I had to wait until the last day of our holidays to taste the best and freshest egg hoppers. They also had fish curries, pork curries, chicken curries, vegetable curries, dhal, brinjal, string hoppers, Kottu and more… For desert there was curd & treacle, wattalapan…. I’ve died and gone to heaven. It had everything, there was even a wedding banquet going on in one corner of the room. Rachelle was fascinated with the number of European and Chinese tourists, who walked the entire length of the buffet peering at every dish and muttering too spicy or I wouldn’t eat that, and then ended up with a dish of plain rice or noodles, with a western salad. People this is Sri Lanka not Germany or France, if you want food like home stay at home. With memories of a bloated belly and the taste of chilli on my lips I leave you….. until our next expedition.
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Stepping beyond our front door 