A Galle-ing loss, but an incredible place...

Singapore was the first stop on the sleep deprived departure of Australia, a full 18 hours during which I managed to have a good look around and, lo and behold, fit in some cricket.

Heading straight to Singapore Cricket Club, a flat acre of green in an otherwise high-rise city, I met Grant Stanley, head honcho of all things Singapore cricket. With an hour to spare until lunch in the old, colonial pavilion, I headed over to observe two locals practising in the nets.

Despite the unbearable humidity and the fact that all I had in the way of apparel for the next 24 hours was the jeans, shirt and holey shoes I was wearing, I could not stay ‘observing’ for too long. I wheedled my way in and after half an hour bowling to the two lads – who turned out to be from the Singapore Army – I was forced to stop through exhaustion and realisation that my neighbour on the plane might not appreciate my odour.

If Singapore was hectic, Colombo was unreal. Sri Lanka’s capital was stifling, its unrelenting tuk-tuk drivers, ludicrously dangerous traffic, beggars and overwhelming heat meant a walk down the street was simply exhausting.

It was no wonder, then, that H and I caught up for a feed and a few refreshments just 50 yards from our hotel and scarpered to Galle first thing the next morning.

Galle. Now there’s a city. Built around an incredible 16^th century fort – which 500 years on survived the Tsunami – the panorama from anywhere on top of the fort walls is simply stunning, whether staring out to the Indian Ocean or overlooking the cricket ground.

With the Sri Lankan Cricket Board looking to cash in on the 8000 Barmy Army present in the city, ticket prices were raised 1000%, so unsurprisingly the fort walls were packed come the first morning, England fans indignant over the principle of increased prices. With this came a carnival atmosphere; singing, joking and when a smart local suddenly realised he could make some money, a fair few lunchtime beverages.

Once we smuggled ourselves into the ground through a hole in the fence, the atmosphere continued to swell into the afternoon and, Mighty Elstow flag in hand, H, Ben and I adopted two extraordinary randoms – Tommy and China – to the Lion-drinking, Barmy-Army-chanting, Elstow-heralding cause.

The next three days of Test cricket were a fantastic blur of gargantuan proportions but our constant singing and tomfoolery could not guide England to a win as we slumped to an all to familiar collapse.

Despite this, as the English do best, we drowned our sorrows at a charity Barmy Army party on Unawatuna Beach (the same location that a day later H would produce yet another emotional sub-continental beach cricket batting display) and our batting woes were – temporarily at least – laughably jested at.

Whilst staying in the fort itself – being treated like the royal family by all staff at The Pedlar’s Inn – we took in the best of Galle, and found a fitting way to round off travels with a stunning, atmospheric sunset out towards the Indian Ocean from the fort walls.

Picture from Galle: http://pic.twitter.com/hNrFO1Ad