Galle Fort

Date: 24 May-16 June

Location of accommodation: Galle Fort

Activities: reading (mostly enlightenment history), writing (novels, poems, Wordsworth essays), tai-chi (nearly every night), swimming and jogging

Special experiences: My last full day in Fort, 15 June, was a full moon holiday.  There were many Sinhalese visitors on that day, and the shops were all closed.  I decided not to leave that day as I had intended, because the busses would be so crowded, and bought lunch at Thenu Rest.  That evening I went out walking, watched some cricket being played in the park, and had a nice chat with the owner of Thenu Rest.  The next morning I ate breakfast at the court house tea house, and prepared my bags, then headed out for the hour ride to Mirissa.  Having already a place prepared in Mirissa, I made it in without any inconvenience and promptly when out swimming in the beautiful bay of Mirissa and then for a short jog.

The night before I left I began to watch a BBC production of the life of Byron.  It greatly inspired me with a love for the man, and I wrote the following poem after I had been out for a short walk about town, admiring one last time the wonderful Dutch architecture and the lighthouse on the bay.

Photo of the stay:

Poem of the stay: Byron’s mother died

While I was out walking,

And the chanting of the Buddhists

Led her to her grave.

The stars of the Indian are particularly

Bright, they twinkle on neverminding

All the tit-tat tit-tat of petty human

Hearts’ conflict.  The lighthouse at the

End of the row is quite

Possibly the most beautiful thing

I have ever seen,

And Byron’s mother died while I was

Out admiring it.

‘Dead?’ you say.

Whatever could that mean? 

What will the poor boy do with himself?

(She always complained of being ill,

so he told me once.

He never was in a hurry for her health).

The sea breaks sadly on the rocks tonight,

Great gray foaming clouds exploding in the rain.

Byron’s mother died tonight,

As if Napoleon himself had led the charge,

All top boots and breeches and I remember

A beautiful French lieutenant once,

Who danced topless before the fire,

Her hair long and silken dewed

Nipples the color of amber honey

Kissable to the nth degree.

Yes, the jungle is warm tonight,

But Byron’s mother is no more.