Egg Hoppers, Pickle Mango & Pettah Bazaar: My Final Sri Lankan Chapter
The shift from Yala to the Sri Lankan coast felt like suddenly changing travel categories.
I fell asleep thinking about geckos on the walls and peahens on the roof, and woke to another Sri Lankan breakfast I was more than happy to linger over. By this point in the trip, I had developed a deep affection for egg hoppers. A delicate bowl made from rice flour and egg, crisp around the edges and perfect for stuffing with coconut sambol, onion sambol, or anything else within reach. An edible bowl that doubles as a vessel for happiness. We should all be this committed to breakfast!
Stuffed and content, we boarded the bus and headed from safari land toward salty air and coastal breezes. Along the way, we stopped at small local stores where we tasted buffalo curd with treacle and dodol, a sticky, sweet Sri Lankan treat made from coconut milk and jaggery. These stops became some of my favourites throughout the tour. Quiet, community-run places where you could see how food was made and handed over with pride rather than polish.
By lunchtime, we reached Mirissa. A laid-back beach town with Bali-style beach bars, deck chairs scattered in the sand, and kitchens full of fresh seafood. A few of us wasted no time and jumped straight into the Indian Ocean. I can now confidently say that the ocean temperature in Sri Lanka is elite. Warm, gentle, and so damn inviting. If you are even vaguely considering a coastal stop in Sri Lanka, let this be your sign.
From Mirissa, we continued north to Galle, arriving just in time to be completely spoiled by our accommodation. Executive suites. Japanese toilets. A full bar. Floor-to-ceiling ocean views. It was one of those places that makes you briefly reconsider your entire life plan. That evening, we wandered through Galle Fort, soaking up its colonial history and easing into the town over dinner. It was a charming little introduction and I immediately understood why people linger here longer than planned.
The following day leaned heavily into the kind of travel experiences I love most. The local ones.
We began by visiting wood carvers whose hands told stories long before their words did. Every piece was carved, polished, and painted by hand. The tiny wooden elephants nearly came home with me until Australian customs reminded me to behave. From there, we braved a bustling fish market where locals bought and sold the day’s catch. It was loud, pungent, and very real. I was not sad to leave.
Next was a lace weaving business run from a family home, a craft almost lost in the 2004 tsunami and kept alive by sheer dedication. Watching the women work was mesmerising. I tried my hand at it and can confirm it is far harder than it looks. Skill like that deserves serious respect.
Lunch came with a new obsession. Pickle mango. Fresh mango sprinkled with salt, chilli, and pepper. Simple. Perfect. Immediately added to my list of things I will be recreating at home.
That evening, we were welcomed into a local home where we chopped, cooked, and learned how to prepare Sri Lankan curry from scratch. No shortcuts. No tourists-only tweaks (except for the lower level of spice perhaps). We ate together, with our hands, as is tradition. It was warm, generous, and had a deep community feel to it. One of those experiences that stays with you long after the flavours fade.
Then suddenly, it was the last day.
We travelled back toward Colombo, the commercial heart of Sri Lanka, passing through familiar roadside scenes and squeezing in a final collection of experiences. A moonstone mine. King coconut drunk straight from the street. One last, excellent curry in Colombo 7 (the rich sector of Colombo). By the time we reached the city, the contrast was immediate. Coastal towns had been breezy and slow. Colombo was busy, dense, and bursting at the seams. The most crowded city I may have ever experienced, with the possible exception of Oxford Street, London, on a bad day.
We explored Pettah Bazaar on foot, weaving through colour, noise, and movement, before returning to the hotel to prepare for our final dinner together. What started as a group that felt like a live-action version of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel had somehow become friends. Wise, funny, patient, and endlessly well-travelled. Saying goodbye stung more than I anticipated, and yes, I fully blame the wise and witty retired travel squad.
Most of the group stayed on for breakfast the next morning. I did not. I was up at 3am, bags packed, heading for the airport and my next adventure in the Maldives.
Sri Lanka closed itself gently. With full bellies, open hearts, and the quiet understanding that this would probably not be my last visit.