Thursday morning in Tangalle Harbour and barefoot fishermen wearing colourful saris and toothless grins are piling thousands of silver and blue fish into the back of their pick-up trucks.
Behind them, gigantic multicoloured wooden boats adorned with flags croak and moan as they push against the harbour walls and entire families squeezed into green and red tuk-tuks navigate their way through the chaos, honking as they go.
It’s an intoxicating scene as the scent of fish guts and blood seaps through the pavement cracks and the temperature reaches 35 degrees.
I’m here with my husband, Dan. We came to Sri Lanka ten years ago, backpacking, taking local trains between the east and west coasts and sleeping in wooden beach huts costing £10 a night. This time, we’re exploring the country’s south coast in a far more sophisticated manner.
Sri Lanka, roughly the size of Wales, has had it rough in recent years. Just as it was back on its feet after the brutal civil war and 2004 tsunami, the Colombo bombing in 2019 scared off travellers and then Covid hit. But, despite the economy plummeting, it’s safe and the friendly locals are welcoming tourists with open arms.
The beach town of Tangalle is our first stop, home to colourful temples, world-class surf spots, bustling food markets and a population of 62,000.
While a string of simple guest houses line the town’s seafront, most of the high-end hotels are just outside. One recent opening is Kayaam House, a 10-minute drive east.
Opened by Resplendent Ceylon, a luxury hotel group whose flagship hotel, Ceylon Tea Trails, appeared on BBC2’s Amazing Hotels, Kayaam House is relaxed and affordable, with rooms from £200/$251.
On a tour of Sri Lanka’s south coast, Harriet Sime visits the beach town of Tangalle (pictured)
Above, a golden Buddha statue in one of Tangalle’s array of colourful temples
Harriet stays at Kayaam House hotel (seen here), which is ‘relaxed and affordable, with rooms from £200’
Sadly, the waves along the glorious beach are too fierce for us to swim or surf so we’re driven 20 minutes west to a surf spot where young locals with dreads and top knots sit on low walls, battered boards by their side, as snatches of jazz from wooden beach bars float through the air.
We meet our instructor, Viran, a leathery-skinned local with pearly white teeth and limited English. He hands us blue rash vests and a pair of 8ft foam boards before pointing to the water. We follow him in – no safety briefing, no questions about our swimming abilities, no forms to sign our lives away.
Thankfully, we’ve had our fair share of lessons, so we spend the last light of the day hopping on and off our boards as Viran watches on. After an hour, it’s time to paddle back to shore where we’re handed bottles of water and watch as smartly-dressed schoolchildren with plaits down to their waists walk along the beach.
Our second stop in Tangalle is Amanwella, to the west of the town, set high above Secret Beach, known for being one of the best bays in the south. And quite rightly. Gigantic rolling turquoise waves crash onto the creamy yellow sand, which is backed by a dense jungle of lush deep-green palms.
Like much of the Aman brand, rooms (or, rather, freestanding suites) here aren’t cheap (starting from £763 per night) – but they’re certainly impressive, peeping out beneath a profusion of coconut palms that slope down to the bay.
We’re warned not to go in the ocean but can’t resist – so we leave the private section of the beach and head to the south side. A couple of brave tourists are being spun around by crashing, swirling waves, their legs flailing before coming up for air. We jump in and let the ocean push us along the shore, taking deep breathes and diving into the waves as they pound the silky sand.
Our next stop is Yala National Park, two hours east. Driving in Sri Lanka away from the highway is a complete joy. We pass through tiny villages where locals sell bananas in wooden huts, herds of bony water buffalo cause traffic jams, and colourful, incense-scented temples make way for lagoons where fishermen in narrow wooden boats cast their nets.
We arrive at Wild Coast Tented Lodge, a remote safari camp made up of luxurious, cocoon-like tents inspired by the egg-shaped boulders strewn across the beach. We’re taken to our tent, which recalls a time of great expeditions, with teak floors, leather chairs, a freestanding copper bath tub and private plunge pool overlooking a watering hole.
Above, Wild Coast Tented Lodge, which is Harriet’s base for exploring Yala National Park
Wild Coast is made up of ‘luxurious, cocoon-like tents inspired by the egg-shaped boulders’, reveals Harriet
Harriet spots Sri Lankan leopards (pictured) and sloth bears in Yala National Park
We’re introduced to our guide, Saranga, who sports a long beard dotted with silvery strands, before driving five minutes into Yala. Saranga shares fascinating stories each time we come across a new animal (the elephant that killed the farmer who shot him in the leg two years before, the crocodile that spent months learning how to jump so he could eat a fisherman who would sit on a suspended wooden platform each day).
The elephants are in abundance, and even a leopard sighting comes to us easily, but it’s the reclusive Sri Lankan sloth bear that evades us. ‘We only see them maybe one in 15 drives,’ Saranga warns us as we head back to the lodge on our final drive, red sand flicking in our wake.
And then I see him. Lumbering lazily through the gnarled trees. ‘Stop, stop, stopppp,’ I call out and the jeep comes to a halt. The bear looks at us nonchalantly as we sit in silence before he lowers his hairless white snout and feasts on a termite mound, licking his paws every now and again.
‘He may look cute but he would rip your face off if he had the chance,’ whispers Saranga. ‘My friend came across a bear while searching a honey nest in the jungle. He knew to cover his face when he was attacked but ended up in hospital for three months.’
Our final stop is Galle Fort, the charming 17th-century walled town and Unesco World Heritage Site on Sri Lanka’s southwest coast.
Our base is Amangalla, a hotel set in a 350-year-old cream-coloured colonial building within the fort walls, where unfailingly warm staff in flowing white robes talk about the hotel’s history with passion while dishing out some sublime food and drink.
That evening, as we discuss the sloth bear sighting and the rain hammers down on the cobbled streets outside, we hear an almighty crash, crack, bang and boom.
I cover my ears and crouch under the table while the local musicians in the corner stop playing and several members of staff rush outside. We’re told a lightning strike has hit the church next door, perhaps just 10 metres away from where we’re sitting.
We’ve witnessed savage sloth bears and dodged a lightning strike in one day – a thrilling reminder of the wonderful power of nature.
