It’s safe, the wildlife is amazing and the locals LOVE tourists: My amazing holiday to Sri Lanka’s bountiful southern coast

On Thursday morning in the port of Tangalle, barefoot fishermen, dressed in colorful saris and toothless smiles, pile thousands of silver and blue fish into the back of their pickup trucks.

Behind them, giant, multicolored, flag-bedecked wooden ships croak and moan as they push against the harbor walls, and entire families packed into green and red tuk-tuks make their way through the chaos, honking as they go.

It is a heady scene, as the smell of fish guts and blood seeps through the cracks in the pavement and the temperature reaches 35 degrees.

I’m here with my husband, Dan. We arrived in Sri Lanka ten years ago, backpacking, taking local trains between the east and west coasts and sleeping in wooden beach huts that cost £10 a night. This time we will explore the southern coast of the country in a much more sophisticated way.

Sri Lanka, about the size of Wales, has struggled in recent years. Just when it had recovered after the brutal civil war and tsunami of 2004, the Colombo bombing in 2019 scared away travelers and then Covid hit. But despite the downturn in the economy, it is safe and the friendly locals welcome tourists with open arms.

The coastal town of Tangalle is our first stop, home to colorful temples, world-class surf spots, bustling food markets and a population of 62,000.

While a number of simple guesthouses line the city’s waterfront, most of the high-end hotels are located on the outskirts. A 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.

Unfortunately, the waves along the glorious beach are too fierce for us to swim or surf, so we are driven 20 minutes west to a surf spot where young locals with dreadlocks and top knots sit on low walls , with battered boards at their sides, while they do snatches. jazz from wooden beach bars float in the air.

We meet our instructor, Viran, a local with leathery skin, pearly white teeth and limited English. He hands us blue protective vests and a couple of 8-foot foam boards before pointing to the water. We followed him inside, no safety instructions, no questions about our swimming skills, no forms to sign our lives away.

Fortunately, we’ve had our fair share of lessons, so we spend the last light of the day hopping on and off our boards while Viran watches. After an hour, it’s time to paddle back to shore, where we’re handed bottles of water and watch as smartly dressed schoolchildren in waist-length braids walk along the beach.

Our second stop in Tangalle is Amanwella, west of the city, high above Secret Beach, known to be one of the best bays in the south. And rightly so. Gigantic turquoise waves crash against creamy yellow sand, backed by a dense jungle of lush deep green palm trees.

Like much of the Aman brand, the rooms (or, rather, self-contained suites) here aren’t cheap (starting at £763 a night), but they are certainly impressive, peering out from beneath a profusion of coconut trees descending towards the bay. .

We were warned not to go into the ocean, but we can’t resist, so we left the private section of the beach and headed towards the south side. A pair of brave tourists are swept away by crashing, swirling waves, legs flailing before coming up for air. We jump in and let the ocean push us along the shore, breathing deeply and sinking into the waves as they hit the silky sand.

Our next stop is Yala National Park, two hours east. Driving in Sri Lanka off the highway is a real pleasure. We pass small villages where locals sell bananas from wooden huts, herds of bony water buffalo cause traffic jams, and colorful, incense-scented temples give way to lagoons where fishermen in narrow wooden boats cast their nets.

We arrived at Wild Coast Tented Lodge, a remote safari camp made up of luxurious cocoon-shaped tents inspired by the egg-shaped rocks scattered on the beach. We are taken to our tent, reminiscent of a time of great expeditions, with teak floors, leather chairs, a free-standing copper bathtub and a private pool overlooking a waterhole.

We are introduced to our guide, Saranga, who sports a long beard dotted with silver strands, before driving five minutes to Yala. Saranga shares fascinating stories every time we encounter a new animal (the elephant that killed the farmer who shot it in the leg two years earlier, the crocodile that spent months learning to jump so it could eat a fisherman sitting on a platform). of wood every day).

Elephants are plentiful, and even a leopard sighting is easy, but it is the lone Sri Lankan sloth bear that eludes us. “We only see them on one out of every 15 tours,” Saranga warns us as we return to the lodge on our last tour, red sand churning in our wake.

And then I see it. Walking lazily among the twisted trees. ‘Stop, stop, stop,’ I shout and the jeep stops. The bear looks at us indifferently as we sit in silence before lowering its hairless white snout and feasting on a termite mound, licking its paws from time to time.

“I may look cute, but I’d rip your face off if I had the chance,” Saranga whispers. ‘My friend encountered a bear while searching for a honey nest in the jungle. He knew he should cover his face when he was attacked, but he ended up in hospital for three months.’

Our last stop is Galle Fort, the charming 17th-century walled city and UNESCO World Heritage Site on the southwestern coast of Sri Lanka.

Our base is Amangalla, a hotel housed in a 350-year-old cream-coloured colonial building within the fort walls, where the ever-warm staff in flowing white robes speak passionately about the hotel’s history while serving food and drink. sublime.

That night, as we talk about the sloth bear sighting and the rain hits the cobblestone streets outside, we hear an almighty rumble, crack, pop, and boom.

I cover my ears and duck under the table as the local musicians in the corner stop playing and several staff members run out. We are told that lightning struck the church next door, perhaps only 10 meters from where we were sitting.

We’ve witnessed wild sloth bears and dodged a lightning strike in one day – a thrilling reminder of the wonderful power of nature.