Nothing to do with hopping or with people who hop. The ‘worldtravelfamily’ website tells me that: ‘Standard hoppers are typical Sri Lankan bowl-shaped or funnel-shaped pancakes. String hoppers are nests of noodle-like steamed batter. They’re almost like rice noodles, to eat with curries and chutneys in place of rice. Hoppers can be filled, you’ll see egg hoppers, vegetable hoppers and sweet hoppers.’

I was introduced to hoppers, egg hoppers especially, on my first visit to Sri Lanka in 1968 and I loved them. They have been part of my breakfast experience here in Sri Lanka ever since. And that experience has been added to this week.

On Monday, my first morning at the Galle Face Hotel, at the breakfast buffet, down the very far end, past fresh fruit, wonderful papaya, bananas, passion fruit, melon and pineapple; continental sausages and cheese; bread for toast and various jams and marmalade; all sorts of curries; baked beans, bacon, potatoes and mushrooms; past the chef who made omelettes and who fried eggs to order, then there at last was the stall and chef for hoppers. Monday’s chef was elderly, small and spoke little English. I asked if I might watch and he smiled in agreement.

A hopper frying pan, if that’s what it’s called, is like a semi-spherical metal bowl with a handle. I don’t see how it could be used with an electric or induction hob. Charcoal or gas, I would have thought. Here it’s gas. The pan is wiped clean with a smidgen of oil then heated. My day one chef held the pan near his face to check the temperature. Then in went a small ladle of batter which was swirled around to make the thinnest of shells, an egg dropped in the centre, the yolk broken and it too swirled around. The pan is then covered. When he judged it to be perfectly cooked the chef placed it on the plate I proffered. He then popped another crispy pale brown hopper on top of the egg hopper and was obviously pleased when I took some chilli paste as an accompaniment. We were both pleased. He pleased that I was pleased. I pleased by his skill and obvious enjoyment of the task and at the prospect of eating my first Sri Lankan breakfast of the visit.

On Tuesday as I came in to breakfast I nodded good morning to an older Sri Lankan couple at the next table. The husband and I had exchanged pleasantries at the pool the previous afternoon. They were obviously regulars at the hotel and the staff treated them with particular deference and respect. There was a different chef at the hopper stall and he suggested I go back to my table and that he would send my egg hopper when it was ready. This egg hopper was not up to Monday’s standard. The yolk wasn’t broken but that’s the same as some liking their fried eggs ‘sunny side up’ and others not. The shell of this egg hopper was not crispy, “Not good,” I thought, but who am I to judge?

And then I noticed what was happening at the next table. An egg hopper was brought, barely tasted, and rejected. There was a brief conversation with the waiter. After a while a second egg hopper was brought and even I could tell it wouldn’t do. The shell instead of being an even palest of pale browns was blotchy white, dark and light brown. It was rejected on sight. A third attempt was also rejected, not with anger but with a sigh of disappointment. My neighbour and I acknowledged our mutual sadness with a look.

Wednesday morning there was yet another chef at the hopper stall and while I was there a young Sri Lankan woman came up beside me with, already on her plate, some string hoppers and accompaniments that I hadn’t noticed. I asked about them and she said, “You should try them.” And she explained that as well as the chilli paste there was caramelised onion mixture, not spicy, and a coconut sambal. She also told me where I’d find the string hoppers and added, “I always take everything!” So, of course, I took everything. Wednesday’s hoppers were better than Tuesday’s hoppers but not as good as Monday’s hoppers. Even so there was no need for lunch.

Thursday, another day, another breakfast, another chef who suggested I take one of the egg hoppers already made. I declined on the grounds that I wanted the yolk broken not whole. This was not altogether true as what I really wanted was a hopper freshly made. To be fair this chef was trying, at the same time as making my hopper, to instruct a trainee in the art of omelette making. My egg hopper had almost the look of a lotus flower around the edge, pretty maybe, but not the way for a hopper. And there was a puddle of batter at the bottom. Oh dear.

Today’s hopper, it’s Friday, was not too bad. Not up to Monday’s standard but not too bad. I didn’t recognise the chef from earlier in the week but he certainly was not Monday’s chef.

I know that small matters occupy small minds but surely it is clear to all that hopper making is not a small matter.

Last Sunday I arrived at Sri Lanka’s Bandaranaike Airport after a direct flight from London. There had been a lot of form filling on paper and online before leaving, results of PCR tests and vaccinations and things like that. But with a good deal of help from Harriet at the travel agents, Trailfinders, even to the extent of her teaching me, over the phone, how to ‘upload’ documents on my computer in order to complete my Sri Lankan Health Declaration Form, I did it. Check in at Heathrow went smoothly.

Arrival in Sri Lanka was a doddle. Within half an hour of the plane landing I was in a car on my way to the hotel. On the plane and on arrival everyone was masked and remained masked apart from a moment at Immigration when masks had to be removed in order to be identified. My temperature was taken at the Health Desk. My documents were examined thoroughly, suitcases were delivered swiftly, the whole operation was conducted efficiently and with friendly helpfulness. Here Sri Lanka is learning to live with Covid.

I am staying at the Galle Face Hotel, built in 1864, and where my Grandmother stayed in the early 1900s. It had a big upgrade in 1964 and is as wonderful now as I am sure it was for travellers then. The 30 meter long swimming pool is filled with sea water and, as I’d forgotten to pack mine, the swimming pool attendant lent me his swimming goggles until I bought some at the local shopping centre. Everyone has their temperature taken on the way into the shopping centre. Everyone wears masks both indoors and outside.

The weather is perfect, warm to hot, even if sometimes overcast. The sunsets are stunning. If there’s a down side it could be that while in London I don’t wear the mask outside unless it is to keep my nose warm on the coldest days, here it is warm enough without a mask but masks are required. I can put up with that. And, anyway, the mask is removed when eating and drinking. Those activities can take up quite a bit of time. And I don’t wear a mask when doing my lengths in the swimming pool which deals with much of the rest of the day. Sri Lanka seems a very good place to be.

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year:
“Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown”.
And he replied:
“Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way”.
So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night.
And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the lone East.

Minnie Louise Haskins

She studied at and then taught at the London School of Economics. The poem, written in 1908 was published in 1912. King George VI quoted from it in his New Year broadcast to the Empire in 1939, the beginning of The Second World War.

Not so much a new Thought as a very old statement from the Letter to the Hebrews, Chapter 1 beginning at verse 1. I prefer the King James’ Bible version as it is in my head from the Christmas Days of my childhood.

“God, who at sundry times and in divers manners spake in time past unto the fathers by the prophets, Hath in these last days spoken unto us by his Son, whom he hath appointed heir of all things, by whom also he made the worlds; Who being the brightness of his glory, and the express image of his person, and upholding all things by the word of his power, when he had by himself purged our sins, sat down on the right hand of the Majesty on high: Being made so much better than the angels, as he hath by inheritance obtained a more excellent name than they.

For unto which of the angels said he at any time, Thou art my Son, this day have I begotten thee? And again, I will be to him a Father, and he shall be to me a Son? And again, when he bringeth in the firstbegotten into the world, he saith, And let all the angels of God worship him. And of the angels he saith, Who maketh his angels spirits, and his ministers a flame of fire.

But unto the Son he saith, Thy throne, O God, is for ever and ever: a sceptre of righteousness is the sceptre of thy kingdom. Thou hast loved righteousness, and hated iniquity; therefore God, even thy God, hath anointed thee with the oil of gladness above thy fellows. And, Thou, Lord, in the beginning hast laid the foundation of the earth; and the heavens are the works of thine hands:

They shall perish; but thou remainest; and they all shall wax old as doth a garment; And as a vesture shalt thou fold them up, and they shall be changed: but thou art the same, and thy years shall not fail.”

On most Saturday mornings I walk to the Farmers’ Market opposite Oval tube station, do my shopping, and take the bus home. It’s not a long walk. I walk to the market beside Kennington Park and, when the weather’s good, it’s a very pleasant walk. Last Saturday I hadn’t bought much so I decided not to take the bus and to walk home, on the other side of the road from the park, beside the shops.

On my way back I passed the Sugar Pot, a coffee shop, a beauty salon, then a nail bar where I gathered from the signs in the window, customers could have acrylic nails, shellac nails, gel nails and OPI. I don’t know what OPI is and I didn’t go in to ask. Then there was another restaurant.

Two shops on, waxing, facial, massage, spray tan and electrolysis were on offer along with treatments to improve skin texture, reduce fine lines and wrinkles, treat acne, rosacea and pigmentation, and reduce uneven skin tone.

There was another beauty salon and a bit further, Dino’s barbers, a traditional barbershop, where I get my hair cut. Their advertisement is a barber’s pole. There are no detailed descriptions of what they do. I turned from Kennington Park Road into Kennington Road and after the Japanese restaurant and the Post Office I had my biggest surprise.

Here, advertised on billboards outside a shop, were offered, non-surgical Brazilian bum lift, fat freeze cryolipolysis, vaginal tightening and HIFU non-surgical facelift. It was something of a relief to see, two shops on, the sign for chiropody, osteopathy, massage and reflexology. That’s where I go to get my toe nails cut.

Where there were ‘visuals’ to go with the advertisements they were all of women. What has happened to Women’s Lib, burning bras and unshaven legs?

And some of this I find embarrassing to write, but I’ve written it, and my mother would have disapproved of today’s ‘Thought’ and would have described it as, ‘Unnecessary’. But I do wonder about this preoccupation with outward appearance.

On the other side of Kennington Park is St Agnes Church where I go most days. I think and hope that there the inner self is being nurtured and kept in reasonable shape.