Nightmare in the sea off Kalpitiya and old-time resthouses

Excerpted from the authorized biography of Thilo Hoffmann
by Douglas B. Ranasinghe

In the 1950s and 60s Thilo kept a flat-bottomed aluminium boat fitted with an outboard motor at the Baurs Red Mill property on the banks of the Kelani Ganga.During the north-east monsoon, trips were made to Mount Lavinia or Negombo on weekends. With a rough sea it was often difficult to negotiate the transition from the river to the sea, taking the breakers in the proper way and avoiding sandbanks both in and out of the estuary. During the south-west monsoon Negombo was reached through the Hamilton Canal and Negombo Lagoon.

On one occasion the boat was transported by lorry to Kalpitiya. From there very early in the morning Thilo, Mae and David Whittaker, who had built the vessel, left for Kollankanatta. There, in Wilpattu, by Portugal Bay, on a flat stretch of seashore overgrown with iluk, Thilo had a lease of one acre of land where he had wanted to build a bungalow. He later gave this up when, chiefly on his own proposal, the area was added to the Wilpattu National Park.

At this place they spent the morning exploring archaeological sites, and befriending a Sinhalese fisherman by the name of Alfred, pronounced ‘Alpred’. He tried to warn them of the up-coming wind, and urged them to return early to Kalpitiya.

The visitors did not understand him properly, and left only at mid-afternoon. By now the south-west wind had thrown up heavy waves. These pounded the boat mercilessly and nearly drowned the occupants in constant heavy spray. After an hour or more of trying they had to give up the intention of returning that day. Eventually, the night was spent, cold and uncomfortable, on a rocky shelf of the shore between Karuwalakuda and Vellamundel, about halfway back to Kalpitiya.

At dawn, on a mirror-smooth surface and in no time, they reached Kalpitiya. There the lorry and driver awaited their return. But the delay had caused a major alarm situation at Baurs and at Palugaswewa Estate, minutes short of a request for a police and aerial search operation.

In those days the islands and shores north of Kalpitiya, in Dutch and Portugal Bays, were uninhabited. (Thilo had proposed to extend the Wilpattu National Park westward to include this marine area and its two main islands.)

Only during the north-east monsoon would some coastal fishing camps be in use there, the catch being dried for easy transport to Kalpitiya at the end of the season. There were a few Catholic churches, at Pallugaturai for example. During the south-west monsoon the area is difficult, and was abandoned, the shallow water being rough and muddy. Today it is populated throughout, and both bays are astir with hundreds of noisy fishing boats.

Years later, in the 1970s, Kalpitiya was again the starting point of an adventure. Mr de Livera who owned Titus Stores, and whose father Thilo had known, maintained a fleet of small fishing trawlers there. He phoned to say that his captains had reported a mass movement of turtles in the sea west of the Kalpitiya Peninsula, and invited Thilo to join one of the ships. Thilo could not resist such an opportunity, and he drove up with his friend Guido Baumann.

They joined the boat which left around 4 p.m. that Saturday. It was a pleasant trip up Dutch Bay and out to sea south of Karaitivu Island. Pods of dolphins were basking in the setting sun.But as the evening and then night progressed a strong north-east wind came up and waves began to rock the small vessel. Thilo and Guido are bad sailors. The expedition turned into a nightmare for both. This was made worse by offers of food or a drink of arrack from time to time by the captain. Wireless phone calls from their host in Colombo who inquired about their well-being did not improve it!

At about 10 p.m. the engine was stopped, the crew had released a very large drift net, and the boat rode at one end of it until morning, pitching and tossing in the heavy waves in a screw-like motion. It was, says Thilo, probably the worst night either of them had ever spent. Guido lay on deck vomiting in the bitter cold. Thilo lay on a bench in the stinking, cockroach-infested hold, braced with his feet and elbows against being tossed into the bilge, his innermost parts seeming to erupt at each upward jolt.

At daybreak the net was hauled in. There were less than a dozen fish. The waves had abated and the boat peacefully chugged back to Kalpitiya. Not one turtle had been sighted.

Farther north on the West coast, Thilo explored the area which includes Devil’s Point, and the uninhabited twin islands of Iranativu, on the coast south of Pooneryn. The only building on the islands is a Catholic church, as on some other remote coasts and islands used by seasonal fishermen.

He was able to visit the Great and Little Basses off the South-West coast on two occasions, with Basil Gunasekera, the Navy chief. Thilo spent one night in each of the historic lighthouses, which are equipped and maintained like ships.

To get to these was itself an adventure: first by rowing boat from the beach at Kirinda to a Navy ship anchored in the bay, then in that vessel close to the Basses, again by rowing boat to the lighthouse, and then finally hauled up by a swivelling wooden crane, hand-operated by the two-man resident crew, to its base.

The transit can be quite tricky when the sea is rough, as it was both times. In the past it was possible to approach the lighthouses only during the short calm season in March-April, and the crews were then marooned for the best part of the year.

Resthouses

The government `resthouses’, set up by the British, formed a network throughout the island during Thilo’s early years, and generally provided good service to the traveling public. He remarks:They were usually run by a local authority, often the GA of the province, and were mostly pleasant buildings with clean and ample rooms. They often stood in fine locations, on a hill or a riverbank or the seashore.

Meals were varied and prescribed in detail by the authority. Prices were very moderate, less than Rs 10/- per day with meals. Generally the resthouse keepers were friendly, genial men, quite a few of them famous for food and service.

“I used resthouses freely, seldom staying in one of the few hotels, except at Kandy and Nuwara Eliya. Advance booking was then not necessary; when, rarely, one place was full you just drove to the next.

This happy state of affairs changed first gradually, then with increasing pace since the 1960s.

“Resthouses disappeared or became shabby and noisy pubs, even dens of vice. Buildings were put to other uses. Later some were rescued and re-appeared as cheap (not price-wise) and tastelessly over-decorated ‘hotels’ with surly personnel. The disappearance of the resthouse system as it still existed in the post-war period is regrettable.

“Among well known and frequented resthouses were those of Bentota, Belihuloya, Hambantota, Arugam Bay, Kalkudah, Vakarai, KKS, Jaffna, Polonnaruwa, Sigiriya, Pelmadulla and Negombo. Famous for seafood, especially fresh – not frozen –crab were the old resthouses at Negombo, Mannar and Jaffna.

“Some were romantic and picturesque beyond measure. The Kalkudah resthouse, covered with a thick thatch of cadjan over beautiful palmyra rafters, was situated beneath massive trees on the shore of a blue bay. Particularly charming was the resthouse at Elephant Pass. Built into the old Dutch fort, and with its large trees, it truly embellished, and stood out in, the bleak flatness of the shallow wetlands between the Chundikkulam and the Jaffna lagoons, through which runs the causeway connecting the Jaffna peninsula with the mainland.”

One late evening in the early 1950s Thilo and Mae arrived there and were assigned the last available room. During the night Mae was disturbed by a mysterious noise and movement in the room. Eventually Thilo closed the window and quiet returned. At breakfast Dr and Mrs H. A. Dirckze of Anuradhapura, who were also guests, casually informed them that the particular room was known to be haunted and thus shunned by visitors! Thilo thinks it was a bat.

The Elephant Pass fort and resthouse were severely damaged in 2000 during the battle with the LTTE. When they seized it they razed the structure to the ground. Not a trace remains of it today. The Portuguese fort at Pooneryn, too, had been badly damaged in the previous decade. Thilo, continues:

“These resthouses, just like the old temples, churches, villages and towns with their public buildings, fitted into the landscape like the key into a lock, exemplifying and accentuating the structure and atmosphere of the land. Today, unfortunately, most buildings, by themselves or collectively, are just blots on the landscape.

“Of course, not all resthouses were excellent. I remember the time at Kalpitiya when we had to flee from our rooms and spend the night in the car as the beds were teeming with bedbugs. At Matara and Weligama the beds were defective and the matresses bumpy, comparable to a potholed road. But on the whole resthouses were just right, and gave good value for money, which you can say for few hotels today.

“An unusual place was the resthouse on the Horton Plains, a very remote and lonely area in those days, especially in bad weather. It was accessible only on foot or horseback. The building had been put up in the late 19th century by Thomas Farr of North Cove Estate, Bogawantalawa as a hunting lodge. Farr was a famous ‘elk’ (sambhur) hunter. A fine stag would be chased over the plains by a pack of dogs, cornered and surrounded, then despatched by the hunter with a knife. This sport, called ‘running to hounds,’ was continued until the middle of the last century.

“The building then became a resthouse under the GA of Nuwara Eliya, and was mainly used by trout fishermen. In the 1970s Harold Peiris acquired it and named it Farr Inn. Still later the Ceylon Hotels Corporation took it over. Today it is a visitor centre of the Department of Wildlife Conservation. As a resthouse it never was a comfortable place. The beds were bumpy and damp, in an all-pervading cold and musty atmosphere.”

We might note here that in the early 20th century the open patanas of Uva formed the background of another peculiar British tradition: fox hunting. Not far from Gurutalawa the Erabedda Hunt had its clubhouse, stables and kennels. On horseback ladies and gentlemen in full dress, with topee (solar helmet), would chase ‘foxes’ (jackals), riding behind large packs of dogs. Today the old clubhouse is the bungalow of Mickelfield Farm, and the patanas are settled and cultivated. The jackals disappeared from the area long ago.

On and off road

Thilo has always been a fast driver, but he has never had a serious accident. In 1947 his first long drive with the new MG was a trip to Jaffna, around the Peninsula and back to Elephant Pass via Nakarkovil. A thrown-up stone had damaged the oil pipe of the car and it just managed to get to Anuradhapura at nightfall. There one of those tinkering jobs for which Ceylon was rightly famous was carried out, and made the return to Colombo possible.

After the MG TC and a Chevrolet cabriolet, Thilo owned an “uncomfortable” early Volkswagen Beetle, and subsequently various models of Peugeot cars. The first was a 403. He fitted this with a Swiss Motosacoche supercharger, which was engaged by pressing a button, and produced “a satisfying whine”. Many drivers of faster models of cars were surprised when it overtook them. Thereafter, he stuck to Peugeots, finding them eminently suitable for the rough conditions of use in Sri Lanka, with small adjustments, such as Koni shock-absorbers and protection against knocks from below. The last such car was a 504, which he bought in 1972, and drove till very recently.

Thilo also had a Land Rover Series I, maintained in fine condition like his other vehicles. It was specially outfitted for exploring in tough situations. There was a snorkel to the exhaust for deep water and, most important, a powerful winch. Axe, mammoties, strong 100-foot nylon ropes, katties, other tools, and spare parts were always on board.

Many times he found himself so immobilized in deep mud or sand that the chassis had to be dug out, and materials for the wheels to grip found and laid, before the jeep could be moved forward or back.Worst were the tracks created by the tall-wheeled bullock carts used in Eastern jungles and plains. In dry weather the ridge in the middle of the track became stone-hard. One had to drive with two wheels on this and the other two up across one of the ruts on either side. Sometimes the vehicle would slip sideways and lie on the ridge with all four wheels off the ground. There were only two options. If a strong tree was within reach of the rope the winch could be used. If not the middle and sides of the track had to be cut away in hours of dirty, hot, uncomfortable work.

When all else failed help had to be found, sometimes from great distances away. It needed up to 20 men or a tractor to get a truly struck jeep on to safe ground. Thilo recalls an incident where in the absence of men from the village a dozen strong women cheerfully came to the rescue. They were, of course, recompensed for their labour.In the late 1960s and 70s the villagers along the road to Wilpattu National Park used to flood the untarred road during the rainy season. This made it impossible to reach the Park in any kind of vehicle without their help, for which (from the few Park visitors) they collected a kind of toll!

Yet possibly the wildest drive Thilo undertook was in 1994 when he managed to coax his 18-year-old Peugeot 504 up from Arawa to the Uva Estate tea factory. Now demolished, this was one of the country’s most prominently visible buildings, at the abrupt northern end of the Madulsima mountain range, overlooking the wide valley of the Mahaweli.

The ascent is more than 3,000 feet over a distance of barely three miles. Had he got stuck on this incline, which he risked throughout, he would have had to abandon the car, as there was no turning back. His friend Guido Baumann preferred to walk – and was overtaken by a sturdy woman carrying a calf on her shoulders up that slope! Thilo embarked on this seemingly foolhardy adventure because, for decades, the official road map showed a motorable road there. (Reports about this and other errors brought no response from the Survey Department.)

During the insurgency of 1972 Thilo undertook some extensive trips. Never before or after was driving in the country so easy. Due to fear the roads were empty not only of vehicles, but also of people, and even cattle and dogs. He drove to Monaragala and explored the mountain range there. He also paid several visits to Palugaswewa Estate to support the Superintendent and staff during that difficult period.

In other countries

The Hoffmanns travelled mostly in Asia, apart from spending regular leave in Switzerland, at first once in four years, later two. The destinations preferred by them were India and Nepal, also Australia, Singapore, Hong Kong, Indonesia and Thailand. In Africa, they visited Egypt several times, and Namibia and Botswana once. On two occasions they flew to the Maldives, well before, in Thilo’s words, “an overbearing tourist industry destroyed its unique charms.”

Mae was greatly attracted by Bombay, with its bustling life and the shopping opportunities not only of Indian textiles and handmade articles, but also of antiques, jewellery, books and artifacts of copper, iron, brass and silver, which were often museum pieces. She was especially fascinated by the original ‘Chor Bazaar’ (‘Thieves’ Market’), with its hundreds of stalls in small by-roads and ancient buildings where second-hand goods of all kinds were heaped up for sale. Later, says Thilo, the stalls were turned into shops that became fashionable and air-conditioned, with prices going up accordingly, and the bazaar lost the genuine aura of a `thieves’ market’.

Thilo is a life member of the Bombay Natural History Society, which he visited on several occasions. He knew Salim Ali, the famous ornithologist, quite well and joined several excursions led by him, and a seminar at Periyar in Tamil Nadu. He also knew Ali’s famous colleague S. Dillon Ripley, from the USA.

For the centenary celebrations of the BNHS in 1976 the Hoffmanns arrived at Bombay airport around midnight. As a result of the stringent exchange control in Sri Lanka at the time they did not have a cent in their pockets! The Taj Mahal Hotel failed to send a car for them though they had ordered one. They were stranded at the airport, not even able to use a telephone. Someone took pity on them, advanced them the cost of a taxi, and they had a bed for the night.