White people stand out on public transportation in Sri Lanka.
While rambling down the coast leaning out the door of the train to take in the culture streaming by, a man came up to us asking our country and where we were going.
It was my first weekend traveling after the group left, and I was with Laura, a volunteer from Canada, and Mason, a volunteer from Japan. We planned to spend the weekend in Galle, and preferred the cheapest and most authentic ways to travel, which are by bus and train.
After the exchange rate, the tickets are basically free.
Wherever we go, people constantly approach us in curiosity asking us questions, sometimes not even knowing English.
So this man is a character, a very nice Sri Lankan middle-aged man who is fluent in English and German on top of his Sinhala. After telling him we were traveling to Galle, he snuffed and said don’t go there. It’s all tourists, and it’s not real Sri Lanka.
He advised we stopped in the town before it, Ambalangoda, and go to the moonstone mine, do a boat ride on the lagoon and check out the turtle hatchery.
We looked it up in our Lonely Planet book and sure enough, there was a wealth of things to do in the seaside town.
He hopped off the train with us, and before heading home, hooked us up with a local tuk-tuk driver who set a local price to escort us to the various places we wanted to go then return to the train station to keep heading to Galle.
Our train ticket was clearance for the day, why not.
Though it was all tourist attractions, we were given local prices for each activity and an unexpected agenda of awesome sight seeing. A few hours later, we were back on the train and amazed by how much we did that was not in the original plan.
We realized the three of us together made a trio of flexible travelers, so any adventure was fair game.
We made it to Galle in the afternoon and were immediately assured we had made the right decision to stop a town earlier.
Galle is an important stop for Sri Lankan history, but I was confused as to where I was. Everything about it felt foreign from the Irish feel of grass plains in between the fort walls or the European architecture of the town. Still, it was breathtaking to walk around the fort.
Galle is an eclectic hub of boutiques, hotels and historical colonial sites all guarded by stonewalls. Our hotel (Thenu Rest, which definitely gets a quick shout out for being amazing and probably the best bargain I will ever get in my life) was prime location inside the old fort and only a block from the lighthouse.
The hotel’s owner asked us our plan for the next day, which was to go to the hot spot beach just down the shore. Much like the man on the train, she shook her head and pointed to Mirissa. She said the bus goes right there, and the beach is bigger and gorgeous. Go there instead.
Validated by Lonely Planet as a sleepy beach town perfect for lazy living and forgetting the world and also somewhat of a secret, we were convinced.
Once again, we were all excited for the plan alteration and hopped the bus and stared at crashing waves the entire ride there.
The Mirissa adventure is one of my favorite of the past two months.
We stumbled out of the bus onto a tiny road in a quiet quaint stretch of town and started walking toward the direction of the coast.
After a few blocks of not seeing beach, we assumed we had chosen the wrong road. We kept strolling, though, figuring we would run into it at some point.
The one-way road was like a creek of tuk-tuks, bicycles, laundry and locals.
We were walking through a small neighborhood, but once we finally saw the shore, we realized we were traversing through a fishing village.
Our nonchalant walk through their hometown clearly puzzled people, but we were welcomed and waved to. We were walking by the shore, but it was not the beach.
It was fishing boat after fishing boat, and the other side of the road was house after house with colorful walls and sunning displays of fresh caught fish. We eventually made it to a massive harbor. The boats were a rustic rainbow of faded coats and chipped wood.
Out of place? Yes. Did we care? Not really. A fishing village and harbor aren’t listed in the guidebook, so it was a pleasant discovery.
We asked the harbor guard where the swimming beach was. He pointed us in the right direction, and we walked down the seemingly deserted road in hopes of a connecting point.
It was a wild walk.
I felt like an explorer in an abandoned paradise where each cabana and coconut tree was all mine.
There was overgrowth choking beautiful houses and gates. Signs for restaurants and hotels were hanging on for life from leaning posts. There were few other souls on the road, but it all seemed alive and breathing, because I could hear the ocean on the other side of the brush.
We creeped down sand paths seeking access to the beach. One took us into the backyard of a local’s house but others mostly led into cabanas under renovation.
Finally, one was larger than the previous, and we saw waves.
Then, like a rescue boat had sited our poor state of beach seeking, a man waved from a porch resting on the sand, waves lapping at its foundation posts, and he welcomed us to Sudewelli Beach Bar.
He could have just said welcome to paradise.
The Sudewelli Beach Bar is a restaurant and cabana stay, and one of few that remains open during the off-season. The staff spends their days this time of year chillin’ at the bar, enjoying the view and welcoming traveling souls like us who are ready to join them.
The open porch restaurant had a great view of the half-moon beach, and the other number of visitors added up to a single digit.
Palm trees danced and shaded the rim of the sand. The water was crystal and crashed in fun tumbles of foam. There was a surfer in the distance, and a Buddhist temple on the hill overlooking it all.
Finding the Mirissa beach gem took much longer than expected, so we were not satisfied with only having an hour at the beach before we needed to head back to catch the afternoon train.
After a few minutes of Debbie-downing though, we all perked up and asked why not just take the bus home? It would take a little longer, but at least we could beach stay as long as we wanted.
Plan changed. Easy-going group of volunteers are happy.
The Sudewelli crew spoiled us with lunch, fresh juices and free wifi, let us keep our stuff their while we swam, let us hang out after then even shower before we headed out.
The Sudewelli slogan is “Come a visitor, leave a friend,” and their hospitability and atmosphere embodied that holistically.
The bus ride home marked the end of a treasured weekend. Two days of morphing plans and suggestions from locals, which all molded an unforgettable adventure in the Sri Lankan south.
As foreign faces crowded the bus, I felt a little less like a tourist and more like a gypsy carrying parts of the island around with me.
At least that’s how my toes felt as they caressed sand from Mirissa in between their crevices.
While rambling down the coast leaning out the door of the train to take in the culture streaming by, a man came up to us asking our country and where we were going.
It was my first weekend traveling after the group left, and I was with Laura, a volunteer from Canada, and Mason, a volunteer from Japan. We planned to spend the weekend in Galle, and preferred the cheapest and most authentic ways to travel, which are by bus and train.
After the exchange rate, the tickets are basically free.
Wherever we go, people constantly approach us in curiosity asking us questions, sometimes not even knowing English.
So this man is a character, a very nice Sri Lankan middle-aged man who is fluent in English and German on top of his Sinhala. After telling him we were traveling to Galle, he snuffed and said don’t go there. It’s all tourists, and it’s not real Sri Lanka.
He advised we stopped in the town before it, Ambalangoda, and go to the moonstone mine, do a boat ride on the lagoon and check out the turtle hatchery.
We looked it up in our Lonely Planet book and sure enough, there was a wealth of things to do in the seaside town.
He hopped off the train with us, and before heading home, hooked us up with a local tuk-tuk driver who set a local price to escort us to the various places we wanted to go then return to the train station to keep heading to Galle.
Our train ticket was clearance for the day, why not.
Though it was all tourist attractions, we were given local prices for each activity and an unexpected agenda of awesome sight seeing. A few hours later, we were back on the train and amazed by how much we did that was not in the original plan.
We realized the three of us together made a trio of flexible travelers, so any adventure was fair game.
We made it to Galle in the afternoon and were immediately assured we had made the right decision to stop a town earlier.
Galle is an important stop for Sri Lankan history, but I was confused as to where I was. Everything about it felt foreign from the Irish feel of grass plains in between the fort walls or the European architecture of the town. Still, it was breathtaking to walk around the fort.
Galle is an eclectic hub of boutiques, hotels and historical colonial sites all guarded by stonewalls. Our hotel (Thenu Rest, which definitely gets a quick shout out for being amazing and probably the best bargain I will ever get in my life) was prime location inside the old fort and only a block from the lighthouse.
The hotel’s owner asked us our plan for the next day, which was to go to the hot spot beach just down the shore. Much like the man on the train, she shook her head and pointed to Mirissa. She said the bus goes right there, and the beach is bigger and gorgeous. Go there instead.
Validated by Lonely Planet as a sleepy beach town perfect for lazy living and forgetting the world and also somewhat of a secret, we were convinced.
Once again, we were all excited for the plan alteration and hopped the bus and stared at crashing waves the entire ride there.
The Mirissa adventure is one of my favorite of the past two months.
We stumbled out of the bus onto a tiny road in a quiet quaint stretch of town and started walking toward the direction of the coast.
After a few blocks of not seeing beach, we assumed we had chosen the wrong road. We kept strolling, though, figuring we would run into it at some point.
The one-way road was like a creek of tuk-tuks, bicycles, laundry and locals.
We were walking through a small neighborhood, but once we finally saw the shore, we realized we were traversing through a fishing village.
Our nonchalant walk through their hometown clearly puzzled people, but we were welcomed and waved to. We were walking by the shore, but it was not the beach.
It was fishing boat after fishing boat, and the other side of the road was house after house with colorful walls and sunning displays of fresh caught fish. We eventually made it to a massive harbor. The boats were a rustic rainbow of faded coats and chipped wood.
Out of place? Yes. Did we care? Not really. A fishing village and harbor aren’t listed in the guidebook, so it was a pleasant discovery.
We asked the harbor guard where the swimming beach was. He pointed us in the right direction, and we walked down the seemingly deserted road in hopes of a connecting point.
It was a wild walk.
I felt like an explorer in an abandoned paradise where each cabana and coconut tree was all mine.
There was overgrowth choking beautiful houses and gates. Signs for restaurants and hotels were hanging on for life from leaning posts. There were few other souls on the road, but it all seemed alive and breathing, because I could hear the ocean on the other side of the brush.
We creeped down sand paths seeking access to the beach. One took us into the backyard of a local’s house but others mostly led into cabanas under renovation.
Finally, one was larger than the previous, and we saw waves.
Then, like a rescue boat had sited our poor state of beach seeking, a man waved from a porch resting on the sand, waves lapping at its foundation posts, and he welcomed us to Sudewelli Beach Bar.
He could have just said welcome to paradise.
The Sudewelli Beach Bar is a restaurant and cabana stay, and one of few that remains open during the off-season. The staff spends their days this time of year chillin’ at the bar, enjoying the view and welcoming traveling souls like us who are ready to join them.
The open porch restaurant had a great view of the half-moon beach, and the other number of visitors added up to a single digit.
Palm trees danced and shaded the rim of the sand. The water was crystal and crashed in fun tumbles of foam. There was a surfer in the distance, and a Buddhist temple on the hill overlooking it all.
Finding the Mirissa beach gem took much longer than expected, so we were not satisfied with only having an hour at the beach before we needed to head back to catch the afternoon train.
After a few minutes of Debbie-downing though, we all perked up and asked why not just take the bus home? It would take a little longer, but at least we could beach stay as long as we wanted.
Plan changed. Easy-going group of volunteers are happy.
The Sudewelli crew spoiled us with lunch, fresh juices and free wifi, let us keep our stuff their while we swam, let us hang out after then even shower before we headed out.
The Sudewelli slogan is “Come a visitor, leave a friend,” and their hospitability and atmosphere embodied that holistically.
The bus ride home marked the end of a treasured weekend. Two days of morphing plans and suggestions from locals, which all molded an unforgettable adventure in the Sri Lankan south.
As foreign faces crowded the bus, I felt a little less like a tourist and more like a gypsy carrying parts of the island around with me.
At least that’s how my toes felt as they caressed sand from Mirissa in between their crevices.
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