A new wave of creativity has followed the surfers and yogis to the reef breaks, coconut plantations and Buddhist monasteries of Sri Lanka’s south coast.
26 December 2023
We are on different planes, perhaps even different planets: Land and Sea, Stillness and Speed. On a grassy bluff at the southern tip of Sri Lanka, I clasp a Negroni, my feet pointing downhill towards the Indian Ocean. Snatches of jazz float into my ears from Cape Weligama’s Surf Bar. On the horizon, a cluster of roseate clouds echoes the amber of my drink.
Down in the ocean, there is traffic. Half a dozen surfers use the last light of day to glide balletically into a reef break created by a headland. They are rapt in their quest. Their histories and identities dissolve amid the low light and the immensity of their stage, these stick figures remind me of fishermen in an old Japanese woodblock print.
However, their appearance here on the south coast is of fairly recent vintage. In the past decade, between December and April, when the first of Sri Lanka’s two monsoons has spent itself and the weather is balmy, a long band of this coast—a 55-mile arc from Hikkaduwa in the west to Hiriketiya in the east—has become a cosmopolitan revel centered around surf culture, with a side of yoga. Everywhere on the rim of the island, I see scooters and tuk-tuks ferrying surfers to beaches and breaks, surf schools and camps.
At sunrise and sunset, the sea is speckled with every kind of surfer: paddling out to sea, queuing to catch a wave, clustering around coaches or lying on loungers quaffing orange thambili—the water of the delicious “king coconut” native to the island. An observer in the new surf towns of Ahangama or Hiriketiya might easily conclude that visitors are an amphibious, chilled-out species attached to two totems. Twice a day, they park their phones and head to sea with their boards.
This beeline to an undiscovered shore is a familiar arc in the surfing world. On Sri Lanka’s south coast, though, the surf revolution has sparked immense stores of homegrown creativity. It has drawn to this part of the island an artistic, culinary, and entrepreneurial force not directly linked to the surf scene, opening a new frontier crackling with a million flowers blooming energy not found in Colombo or along the Buddhist and tea trails. These include tea mogul Malik Fernando’s Resplendent Ceylon and Reverie, boutique resorts that embody visions of Sri Lankan beauty—from deep tissue massages soundtracked by the muffled boom of the sea at the sublime Kayaam House to a dreamlike stay in retrofuturistic canvas cocoons at the Wild Coast Tented Lodge. The beach town of Ahangama, formerly known for its 19th-century Buddhist temple and stilt fishing, is now home to Palm, a modernistic A-frame jungle fantasy where, in the words of its owner Miriam Haniffa, “Shoreditch meets Sri Lanka.”
Meanwhile, the best cocktail bar and smokehouse in the region is not in Galle, the majestic Dutch colonial city that was historically the biggest draw of the south. At Smoke & Bitters, in the jungly open air in Hiriketiya, Lahiru Perera and Don Ranasinghe direct boozy evenings of Ceylon arrack, silvertip tea vermouth, and housemade bitters alongside playful local cuisine: “calamari” ingeniously concocted from coconut flesh, dragonfruit ceviche, and smoked jackfruit sandwiches. The region has, in one long breath, attracted a large, diverse cast of people who believe their best life is here.
Consider Raffael Kably. I meet Raff one warm morning in his own kingdom: Soul & Surf, an eight-room B&B he managed during my visit. On the edge of a blue cove in Ahangama, it is ringed by coconut trees and has its own little strip of beach. Unexpectedly, this former DJ and film producer possesses a Mumbai accent. We grew up, it turns out, only a few miles apart in the western suburbs of the megapolis. Seasuave in blue shorts and a crisp white half-sleeve shirt showcasing his tattooed forearms, this consummate insider has observed the local scene burgeon and lent it a distinctive accent.
Sri Lanka had always attracted a small pool of surfers focused on the waves of Arugam Bay, the highly rated spot in the east of the island. Indeed, these hardy souls, largely indifferent to political and economic turbulence, supported the tourist economy during the civil war that afflicted an entire generation from the 1980s onwards. As tourism began to revive post-war in 2009, the south acquired a growing reputation, especially as a place where surfing beginners and intermediates could make progress. Raff explains, “The waves are more forgiving here because the reef is only about two metres deep.” Additionally, surf season in the Sri Lankan south, unlike in Arugam Bay, coincides with winter for many prospective visitors.
Around 2017, the scene really took off, sparked by social media showcasing the variety of breaks on offer: a lush sun-kissed landscape of swaying coconut trees, fresh seafood delights, and an ever-growing number of establishments catering to all pleasures. Soul & Surf started as a popup surf camp, then solidified its roots on its current site. And in 2018, Raff moved to Ahangama for good, both to ride and guide the wave. “After I surf in the morning, I find I just cruise through my day,” he says. “I love setting up the same pleasure for others. Here, we’re not just into surf; we’re after a more discerning kind of surfer and traveler.”
To that kind of traveler, establishments such as Dots Bay House in Hiriketiya, Soul & Surf, and The Jungalows in Dikwella offer a community of likeminded people, a full menu of activity, pleasure, and self-discovery, and authentic connections to place. The shared values here resonate with aquaphilia, mindfulness, and multiculturalism—a carpediem cool with an eco-warrior edge. Participants are just as likely to gather for beach cleanups as for sunset cocktails. Soul & Surf even promotes a manifesto of surfing as a way of life, advocating for care of the planet, living in the present, and practicing blue health (the idea of being near water is beneficial). An almost Dhammapada for surfers exists here, including the very meta notion of not taking surfing too seriously.
Not taking surfing too seriously, however, is not a notion that Shaggy can embrace. Of all the people I meet here, no one embodies the new ethos of this world more completely than this local surfing luminary. Shaggy has seemingly abandoned his birth name entirely; he’s small built, wiry, and vociferous, with a topknot—a style seen among young Sri Lankan surf coaches—a bright smile, and an Instagram account where he showcases his best moves, often in slow motion.
Shaggy received his first surfboard at age seven, a gift from a British tourist named Gary Wills, whom he still remembers fondly. “In the 1990s we were ten guys sharing a board, five waves each at a time,” he recalls, in the lilting, long-voweled English of the island. “We’d surf, then climb a coconut tree, drink up, and go back to surfing.” Shaggy matured perfectly alongside the rising tides of the south, acknowledging that while many friends contemplated emigration due to the economy, the world was beginning to flow toward him. He now operates a thriving business called Shaggy’s Surf School in Midigama, close to five surf breaks with evocative names: Coconuts, Plantation, Ram’s, Lazy Left, and Lazy Right. “Playing cricket is a waste of time,” he states, dismantling the prevailing passion of many of his countrymen with a single expression. “Me, I dream of the beach.”
Over the days, I work out a way of traversing both the vibrant ocean rim and the older world lying a few miles inland. The distinction between the two is often stark: the coastal railway line runs south from Colombo to Beliatta. On the seaward side, behind the arcing silhouettes of coconut trees and colorful rows of stacked surfboards, are countless surfers gliding on a shimmering blue. On the landward side, women with parasols and schoolchildren coast alongside emerald-green paddy fields, which harbor a wealth of wetland birds: pond herons, darters, sunbirds.
The seaside is filled with froth and laughter, bass beats, and boot camps; faces from far lands flushed with excitement—delightful to contemplate in a country where enjoyment and freedom have long been cast in shadow. Calling me inland are the undulating slopes of Handunugoda Tea Estate; the giant statues of the Buddha in serene hilltop viharas, where sun-baked stone scorches bare feet; and the conical towers of the Old Dutch Trade Centre in Matara. While many seaside villas are surrounded by sculptural frangipani, the Buddhist monasteries inland often exist among thoughtful banyan trees with great rustling canopies.
Where to Stay in Galle
The best places to stay are clustered in Galle Fort, the UNESCO-listed 16th-century peninsula south of town. Each of the 11 suites in the Galle Fort Hotel, a 300-year-old Dutch mansion recently restored by renowned Sri Lankan architect Channa Daswatte, exudes history and romance. Sumptuous breakfasts are served under fragrant frangipani trees in a colonnaded courtyard, while drinks are taken on the long veranda. Just up Church Street, Amangalla is equally majestic in a beautiful 17th-century sandstone corner building. Even if you don’t stay, it’s worth visiting for the three tiers of high tea amidst Portuguese-era tiles. Additionally, the five-bedroom Villa Mine sits within a landscaped garden, offering a hilltop dining pavilion, swimming lake, and pool among gnarled mango, palm, and rambutan trees.
Where to Stay in Weligama and Ahangama
This stretch of the south coast boasts a range of options. One end of Weligama Bay features Villa Suriyawatta, which provides a splendid seaside retreat for families and groups. Its five bedrooms accommodate 12, with unobtrusive hospitality from seven staff members, including a chef. Additionally, alongside a turtle-friendly lagoon near a surf break, the Ahangama outpost of the Soul & Surf brand—also present in Kerala and the Algarve—maintains a well-crafted formula of sea-facing yoga, healthy communal meals, and beginner-friendly surf coaching. Further inland at Malabar Hill, its arches and pillars evoke old Rajasthan amidst 33 acres of hillside, private pools, and stunning views. In a former Ahangama coconut plantation revitalized by ex-Shoreditch hoteliers Laurie Spencer and Miriam Haniffa, Palm offers a serene, future-facing experience with six black A-frame cabanas and two suites on stilts featuring outdoor showers and a sense of tropical modernism.
Where to Stay in Hiriketiya and Dikwella
Around these surf-driven honeypots, accommodations often embrace an eco-friendly ethos—with options ranging from the thatched huts and solar-powered showers of The Jungalows in Dikwella, which has a boot-camp approach to surf lessons, to Dots Bay House in Hiriketiya, where Dots Surf Cafe serves fresh local food and doubles as a workspace. Meanwhile, Claughton House, a capacious seaside villa situated on a coconut plantation with its own private butler, boasts exquisite design by Sri Lanka’s pre-eminent modernist, Geoffrey Bawa, with a show-stopping infinity pool and expansive vistas.
Where to Stay in Tangalle and Yala
In Tangalle, over an hour’s drive east of Galle, the newly opened Kayaam House reveals a minimalist, light-saturated villa in white and blue tones, promoting serenity with the sound of waves and tranquil water cascades. Additionally, Wild Coast Tented Lodge, positioned two hours east of Tangalle on Yala National Park’s edge, features 28 giant pods with luxurious fittings that allow guests to enjoy nature’s wonders.
