By Kee Foong Published: Jul 01, 2026 07:20 AM HKT 13 min read
MY SISTERS AND I first visited Sri Lanka in 1985 for a family holiday. I remember playing in the surf in the resort town of Hikkaduwa, and crowds desperate to see Buddha’s purported tooth at the Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic in Kandy. Most of all, I recall my father ordering lunch at a roadside restaurant one day. After taking our order, the waiter hopped on a bicycle and rode off, eventually returning with produce from a local market for our meal.
Forty years later, we returned to celebrate a significant birthday. We weighed the options—Ibiza, Mallorca, Egypt, Marrakech and Vietnam—before landing on Sri Lanka for an under-the-radar destination offering a bit of everything. It was the perfect way to honor our first big overseas holiday together—and discover more of a country I’ve fallen deeply in love with over the years.
Most international travelers land in, then bypass, the capital, Colombo, heading south to the seaside resorts of Bentota, the UNESCO World Heritage-listed fort town of Galle, the rugged coastlines of Mirissa and Tangalle, and the wildlife of Yala. Having visited Sri Lanka several times, I wanted sun, sea and somewhere less predictable for this trip. Over 10 days, our chauffeur-guide Darshanna drove us from the populous west to the remote east and back, taking in the Cultural Triangle—bordered by Anuradhapura, Polonnaruwa and Kandy—and the Hill Country along the way.
Our first night was at De Saram House in Colombo, designed by the venerated architect Geoffrey Bawa. This Tropical Modernist former home, hidden behind tall metal gates, is set around two courtyards, with just four simple yet chic bedrooms. Pink bougainvillea spills over white and ochre walls, and frangipani scents the air. Light and shadow move in a perpetual dance, and Bawa’s masterful blurring of indoors and out suffuses every room.
The next morning, we set off on a whirlwind tour of Colombo. It’s a sensory treat, from the red-and-white candy-striped Jami Ul-Alfar Mosque to mounds of fruit and vegetables alongside underwear and shirts at Pettah Market. We swing by Paradise Road and Barefoot Gallery, excellent places to pick up locally made souvenirs, homeware and clothing.
The drive to Sigiriya in the Cultural Triangle is slow but scenic, along single-lane roads past swathes of emerald-green rice paddies and thatched-roof village houses. We pass colorful roadside stalls and vendors selling bananas, pineapples and king coconuts, but stop at an unexpected sight—durian. Considered the king of fruits by many Asians and the devil’s seed by almost everyone else, we had to sample the local version, giving it a thumbs-up.
High ceilings of the airy bedroom at Jetwing Vil Uraya | Courtesy of Jetwing
Water dwellings at Jetwing Vil Uyana | Courtesy of the hotel
An open-air bathroom at Jetwing Vil Uyana | Courtesy of Jetwing
By the time we arrive at Jetwing Vil Uyana , a pioneering eco-resort, long shadows splay across its lakes and lily ponds. Previously degraded agricultural land, the 25-acre property has been painstakingly regenerated into a wetland sanctuary by the Cooray family. Thirty-six rustic timber dwellings, built on stilts, sit sympathetically among forests, paddy fields, gardens, marshes and waterways. The split-level lodgings feature high ceilings, open bathrooms and balconies. Most have plunge pools, though the resort’s main infinity pool, which seemingly merges with the lake, wins out.
The resort was completely unprecedented when it was built, Hiran Cooray, chairman of Jetwing Symphony, tells me. “Gaining approvals was difficult because there wasn’t a reference point and not many people grasped the concept,” he recalls.
Twenty years on, Vil Uyana’s impact extends beyond the property. Its youth training program has helped more than 1,200 young people, and its construction brought electricity to the surrounding village.
Apsara restaurant at Jetwing Vil Uyana | Courtesy of Jetwing
Elephants at Minneriya National Park | Courtesy of Jetwing
Cooray is equally proud of the return of wildlife: birds, butterflies, elusive fishing cats and grey slender lorises now inhabit the grounds. Guided night walks in search of the loris are a highlight, with proceeds supporting a dedicated conservation fund.
At dawn, under dusky pink skies, we set off to climb Sri Lanka’s most recognizable landmark—Sigiriya—an archaeological marvel rising nearly 200 meters above the surrounding plains. Sinhalese for Lion Rock, the granite plateau was transformed into a palace fortress by King Kashyapa in the fifth century. Kashyapa had seized the throne by entombing his father behind a stone wall while he was still alive. Fearing retribution from his brother, the rightful heir, he sought safety on higher ground. It didn’t save him: he slit his own throat during a failed battle with his brother years later. The citadel became a Buddhist monastery and was lost to the outside world for centuries before being rediscovered in the 19th century.
Sigiriya is easily combined with a visit to the UNESCO World Heritage-listed Rangiri Dambulla Cave Temple, Sri Lanka’s largest and best-preserved cave-temple complex. Within these millennia-old grottoes are Buddha shrines, murals and statues of such beauty that even the atheists among us are likely to be moved.
You could spend a week in the Cultural Triangle alone, but we pushed on. Heading east, there are noticeable changes: the land is drier, the air hotter, and Sinhalese populations give way to Tamils, reflected in the increasing number of Hindu temples that appear.
Kalkudah Bay unfurls as a wide arc on Sri Lanka’s east coast, off limits to travelers during the civil war and now a nascent luxury destination for those willing to venture farther afield. The bay, all 15 kilometers of it, is near-deserted—a golden band of sand lapped by the Indian Ocean on one side and coconut and cashew groves on the other.
It’s here that boutique operator Teardrop Hotels has opened Kalkudah Beach House , its first venture on the country’s east coast. It’s more residence than hotel, with just five bedrooms spread across 25 acres of beachfront land between a whitewashed Dutch-style house that looks far older than its 1980s build date and the standalone Palm Villa. The house was destroyed by the 2004 tsunami and only restored and opened as a hotel last year, its immaculate new lawn guarded by staff who shoo away cattle tempted by its succulent blades of grass.
“The east coast has always felt like one of Sri Lanka’s final frontiers. For decades it was inaccessible,” says Henry Fitch, CEO of Teardrop Hotels, noting that this sense of remoteness is what attracted the group. It gave them “an opportunity to do something more elemental,” he says. It’s a place that sits “lightly on the land,” where the experience is dictated by the lagoon, the sea and the pace of local life.
Days pass in a languid haze, with barely a breeze to take the edge off the heat. Daybreak is the busiest time. As the sun swells over the horizon, traditional oruwa boats return to shore with the ocean’s bounty. At a makeshift stall, men in sarongs haggle over the choicest fish as crows circle overhead, waiting to swoop on scraps while a dog tries vainly to chase them away. By 8 a.m., the fishermen have dispersed, leaving the beach secluded once more. Our routine: morning walks and dips in the calm sea or lap pool, followed by hoppers for breakfast and short excursions.
One day, we drive to Batticaloa, 45 minutes away but a world apart. This scrappy trading port, surrounded by sea and lagoon, passed through colonial hands over the centuries, from Portuguese to Dutch to British. Its best-known landmark is a crumbling 17th-century granite fort, still serving as government offices and refreshingly tourist-free.
Another morning, we accompany group executive chef Joseph Pereira to the fish market at Valaichchenai. Again, we are the only tourists as workers swiftly unload deep-sea fish from trawlers. Among the tuna, snapper and grouper, a hammerhead shark is auctioned to the highest bidder. Our own haul is more modest: mud crab, prawns and cuttlefish, which Pereira and his kitchen team transform into spicy delights that we feast on under the stars that night.
After the heat of Kalkudah, relief lies ahead in the Hill Country. The winding roads leading there can challenge those prone to motion sickness, but the scenery is among the lushest and most beautiful on the Resplendent Isle. As we head inland and upwards, temperatures drop, clouds gather, and lowland scrub gives way to luminescent green jungle. Some three hours later, terraced plantations appear: rows of neatly pruned Camellia sinensis bearing precious tea leaves. It’s an artificial landscape that is nonetheless utterly spellbinding, if somewhat unsettling when you see sari-clad women laboriously picking the leaves.
By the time we arrive at Goatfell , my favorite of the three Hill Country planters’ bungalows operated by Teardrop Hotels, a light drizzle has set in. Sitting at an elevation of 2,000 meters, with gardens of towering pine trees, agapanthus and panoramas of mist-covered mountains, it has just four bedrooms and feels like our own home. A log fire crackles in the living room where we sip Negronis before moving to the dining room for comfort fare like steak and chips, roasted pork belly and sticky date pudding.
En route to our next destination, we stop briefly at Nuwara Eliya, nicknamed Little England, before the two-hour drive to Castlereagh Reservoir. Ceylon Tea Trails, a circuit of five planters’ bungalows spread across a 3,500-acre working estate, awaits. It’s a “living, emerald-green landscape where tea is still grown, plucked, and processed in the traditional, century-old manner every day,” says Malik Fernando, founder of Resplendent Ceylon , which operates Ceylon Tea Trails, and whose family founded Dilmah Tea.
We’re dropped off at Summerville Bungalow on the lake’s edge and ferried across to Castlereagh, the century-old bungalow where we’re staying. As we approach, the house materializes like a rose-tinted dream of English gardens and colonial architecture, with floral upholstery, polished antiques, checkerboard floors, four-poster beds and claw-foot tubs.
Serenity on Castelreagh Reservoir | Courtesy of Ceylon Tea Trails
A garden suite bathroom in Dunkeld bungalow | Courtesy of Ceylon Tea Trails
Tea Trails is a member of Relais & Châteaux and the only hotel in Sri Lanka to have earned three Michelin Keys. Each bungalow is unique, and guests can hike or cycle between them for lunch or afternoon tea (stays are all-inclusive). Afternoon tea is the full affair: tiered stands laden with sandwiches, local snacks, cakes, and scones with jam and clotted cream, and pots of tea, of course. Dinners range from rice and curry to refined three-course menus.
Little has changed over the decades, says Fernando, who recalls “rolling green fields, long walks across the mountains—some of which are now part of the Pekoe Trail—mists descending in the late afternoon, rain to water the fields, sitting on the terrace for cocktails, and a long, chatty dinner.”
On our last day, we make the slow drive back to Colombo for a final dinner at Ministry of Crab , arguably Sri Lanka’s best-known restaurant. We end our trip at Wallawwa, one of the loveliest airport hotels anywhere. It’s late, but Teardrop’s Fitch is there, and we catch up over nightcaps on the terrace. A fan twirls lazily above us while frogs and crickets croak and chirp. Even to the last, Sri Lanka remains unhurried and languorous, a place that makes you stop and smell the frangipani—a paradise for the slow traveler.
De Saram House | doubles from USS 95 per night, including breakfast.
Jetwing Vil Uyana | doubles from USD 350 per night, including breakfast.
Kalkudah Beach House | Beach view rooms from USD 280 per night, including breakfast.
Goatfell | Concordia Rooms from USD 685 per night, all-inclusive.
Ceylon Tea Trails | doubles from USD 1,125 per night, all-inclusive.
Wallawwa | Garden Suites from USD 305 per night, including breakfast.
Ministry of Crab | Crabzilla (2 kg) from USD 280.
Major airlines fly direct to Colombo from Bangkok, Hong Kong, Kuala Lumpur, Singapore and Sydney.
Teardrop Journeys can tailor itineraries to suit your budget and arrange transfers, plus a private car and driver for your entire trip.
Born in Malaysia, raised and educated in Australia and based in Hong Kong, Kee Foong has had the privilege .. Read More of setting foot on every continent. His parents are to blame for my wanderlust and love of food, passions that he have somehow fashioned into a career, having swapped the dry confines of government and social policy for the supposed glamour of lifestyle and travel writing. Read Less
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