Sri Lanka: The Substitute That Became a Favourite (in Snapshots)

(This Article is kind of a chapter 2 of the previous article, and if you have just arrived here, you might want to read “Born Restless — On Wanderlust, Ancestry, and a Dream Called India” beforehand.)

People say, “If you can’t take India, try Sri Lanka.”

That sentence used to sound like a compromise to me—like a replacement for a plan that never happened. But Sri Lanka didn’t stay a substitute for long. It became one of my favourite destinations on earth, the place I return to again and again. I’ve been four times already, and my fifth (Lizz’s second) trip is only weeks away.

Looking back, I think the reason is simple: Sri Lanka wasn’t just another stamp in my passport. It was the place where “far away” first became real.

I was 22 when I went there for the first time—my very first trip outside Europe. That kind of journey leaves a mark. It doesn’t just show you a country; it shows you what kind of person you become when you’re out of your element.

Here are a few snapshots of how Sri Lanka moved from “Plan B” to something much more personal.

Snapshot 1: Colombo — the first breath of tropical reality

My first memory of Sri Lanka is not a monument or a beach. It’s the air.

That heavy, humid, warm air that feels like it has texture. The sound of traffic—horns, engines, sudden stops—mixed with voices and street life. The smell of exhaust and frying oil and something sweet I couldn’t name. Colombo felt loud, busy, alive. Not romantic in a postcard way—more like a living machine that runs on heat and human energy.

And then, very quickly, the chaos was softened by something I still associate strongly with Sri Lanka: normal, unforced friendliness. Not the “tourism smile,” but the everyday kind—small help, small talk, curiosity without aggression.

Snapshot 2: Food that doesn’t need an introduction

Sri Lanka speaks to me through food, as India always has—through spice, comfort, and variety.

• Hoppers with crispy edges and a soft centre, sometimes with an egg.
• Pol sambol—coconut, chilli, lime—simple and addictive.
• String hoppers with curry, perfect for breakfast but honestly good any time.
• Kottu roti at night, chopped fast on a hot plate with that unmistakable clacking sound that becomes part of the street soundtrack.
• Rice and curry, served in several small portions—each different, each telling you: this island has layers.

Sri Lankan cuisine is related to Indian cuisine, yes, but it has its own character. Often more coconut, sometimes a sharper heat, its own balance of sour and sweet. It doesn’t feel like an imitation of India; it feels like a confident neighbour.

Snapshot 3: The coast — the kind of peace only an island gives you

On the coast, Sri Lanka’s intensity relaxes. The sea becomes a constant presence, like it’s keeping everything else in check.

Bentota is one of those places where time loosens. The beach stretches wide, the light turns golden in the afternoon, and the sound of the waves becomes a background meditation. You plan to do things, and then you realise that sitting, watching, and listening are already enough.

Sometimes it rains suddenly—tropical rain that arrives like a curtain. And then, just as suddenly, the sky clears again as if nothing happened.

Snapshot 4: Hospitality that turns you from a tourist into a guest

Sri Lanka has given me one of those moments that feel almost unreal when you write them down.

During a rainstorm, I was welcomed into a family home. No drama, no ceremony—just an open door. It led to dinner, conversations, and more visits. And then Sri Lanka took a turn that still makes me shake my head with disbelief: the family tried to arrange a marriage between their youngest daughter and me, partly, as I understood it, to avoid dowry costs.

It was awkward, funny, and also strangely revealing. Because behind the wild story was a very real insight into family structures, pressures, and practical thinking. It reminded me that travel isn’t just scenery—it’s getting close enough to people to see how their lives actually work.

Snapshot 5: Kandy — a different rhythm

Kandy always feels like a shift in mood. The green gets deeper—the pace changes. The city carries history more quietly.

Walking near Kandy Lake as the day cools down is one of those small experiences that stays with you. And places like the Temple of the Tooth (Sri Dalada Maligawa) have an atmosphere that is hard to put into words: devotion made visible, the sound of drums, the steady flow of people who are not there to “see something” but to practice something.

Even if you’re not religious, it makes you respectful. It makes you quiet.

Snapshot 6: Nuwara Eliya — tea, mist, and that feeling of being elsewhere

The hill country is where Sri Lanka becomes almost cinematic.

The train routes, the open windows, the wind, the scenery turning into layered greens. Tea plantations appear like carefully shaped hills, and suddenly the air is cooler, thinner, calmer.

Nuwara Eliya has its own personality: mist that comes and goes, that slightly colonial look in some buildings, and the constant presence of tea—tea as landscape, tea as smell, tea as identity. Even a slow day there feels rich: a view, a walk, clouds moving across the hills, as if the sky is thinking out loud.

On our upcoming trip, we’ll be back in that area again—Kandy for a couple of nights, then Nuwara Eliya for a few more—because that combination still feels like the perfect Sri Lanka contrast: culture and green, warmth and cool air, movement and pause.

Why Sri Lanka keeps calling me back

After four trips, it’s no longer just “a destination I like.” It feels personal.

Maybe it’s because it was my first real step out of Europe, and first steps imprint deeply. Perhaps it’s because I connect with the people in a way I can’t fully explain—something about the mix of kindness, humour, directness, and hospitality. Or maybe Sri Lanka arrived at the right moment in my life and became a reference point for what travel should feel like.

And maybe—just maybe—it also connects to that more profound India-shaped longing I’ve carried since childhood.

Sri Lanka didn’t replace India. But it kept my compass pointed in the right direction. It gave the longing a place to land.

India is still waiting for me. But Sri Lanka, in a way, has already become part of my story—four times over, with a fifth chapter about to begin.

Until then, happy travels!

Lizz & Andi