Despite tea's dominance, there are crannies where villagers eke out a private living.
We've come eight miles past Bandarawela.
Ella's a small place: here's the post office.
A bungalow.
A road heads south and downhill to the coastal plain. Along the way, villages make their own winnowing breeze.
A dead-end road branches off near Karandagolla.
It ends at this stream, although traffic continues with deft footwork on stones lying a few inches below the water.
The stream itself is too rough to follow easily.
Paths parallel it, however.
Suddenly, the forest opens to rice paddies.
Diversions from the stream trickle from one paddy to the next.
New paddies are chopped from the hill.
Field preparation is about to begin.
Despite the lack of roads, some of the families here have substantial homes.
Porch.
Firewood.
Freshly sawn timber.
Piped water, diverted from the stream.
A nursery.
Tomatoes, a cash crop to be carried out to the road.
