It’s safe, the nature is amazing and the locals love tourists: my incredible holiday on Sri Lanka’s bountiful south coast

At Tangalle Harbor on Thursday morning, barefoot fishermen wearing colorful saris and toothless grins pile thousands of silver and blue fish into the backs of their pick-up trucks.

Behind them, giant multi-colored wooden boats decorated with flags croak and groan as they push against the harbor walls and entire families crammed into green and red tuk-tuks navigate their way through the chaos, honking their horns.

It’s an intoxicating scene as the smell of fish guts and blood seeps through the cracks in the sidewalk and the temperature reaches 35 degrees.

I’m here with my husband, Dan. We came to 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 explore the south coast of the country in a much more advanced way.

Sri Lanka, about the size of Wales, has had a tough time in recent years. Just as the country was getting back on its feet after the brutal civil war and the 2004 tsunami, the bombing of Colombo in 2019 scared away travelers, then Covid struck. But even though the economy is tanking, it is safe and the friendly locals welcome tourists with open arms.

The seaside 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 the city’s seafront is lined with a string of simple guesthouses, most of the luxury hotels lie just beyond. A recent opening is Kayama 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.

During a tour of the south coast of Sri Lanka, Harriet Sime visits the seaside resort of Tangalle (photo)

Above, a golden Buddha statue in one of Tangalle’s colorful temples

Harriet is staying at the Kayamam House hotel (seen here), which is ‘relaxed and affordable, with rooms from £200’

Unfortunately, the waves along the beautiful beach are too big for swimming or surfing, so we are driven 20 minutes west to a surf spot where young locals with dreads and topknots sit on low walls, battered planks at their sides, like snatches of jazz from wooden beach bars floating through the air.

We meet our instructor, Viran, a leathery local with pearly white teeth and limited English. He hands us blue rash vests and a pair of 8-foot foam boards before pointing to the water. We follow him in – no safety briefing, no questions about our swimming skills, no forms to sign our lives.

Luckily we’ve had quite a few lessons, so we spend the last light of the day jumping on and off our boards while Viran watches. After an hour it’s time to paddle back to shore, where we get bottled water and watch neatly dressed schoolchildren with waist-length braids walk along the beach.

Our second stop in Tangalle is Amanwella, west of the city, high above Secret Beach, known as one of the best bays in the south. And rightly so. Giant rolling turquoise waves crash onto the creamy yellow sand, which is backed by a dense jungle of lush, deep green palms.

Like many other Aman brands, the rooms (or rather stand-alone suites) here aren’t cheap (from £763 per night), but they are certainly impressive, peeking out from under an abundance of coconut trees sloping down to the bay.

We are warned not to go into the ocean, but can’t resist – so we leave the private part of the beach and head to the south side. A few brave tourists are spun around by crashing, swirling waves, their legs flailing before coming up for air. We jump in and let the ocean push us along the shore, take a deep breath and dive into the waves as they crash onto the silky sand.

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

We arrive at Wild Coast Tented Lodge, a remote safari camp made up of luxurious, cocoon-like tents inspired by the egg-shaped boulders that dot the beach. We are shown to our tent, which harkens back to a time of great expeditions, with teak floors, leather chairs, a freestanding copper bath and its own plunge pool overlooking a watering hole.

Above, the Wild Coast Tented Lodge, Harriet’s base for exploring the Yala National Park

Wild Coast consists of “luxurious, cocoon-like tents inspired by the egg-shaped boulders,” Harriet reveals

Harriet spots Sri Lankan leopards (photo) and sloth bears in Yala National Park

We meet our guide, Saranga, who has a long beard with silver locks, before we drive five minutes into Yala. Every time we encounter a new animal, Saranga shares fascinating stories (the elephant that killed the farmer who shot him in the leg two years earlier, the crocodile that spent months learning to jump so he could eat a fisherman sitting on a hanging chair) wooden platform every day).

The elephants are plentiful, and even a leopard sighting comes easily to us, but it is the reclusive Sri Lankan sloth bear that eludes us. “We might only see them one in fifteen rides,” Saranga warns us as we head back to the lodge on our final ride, red sand in our wake.

And then I see him. Enjoy lazily strolling through the gnarled trees. “Stop, stop, stopppp,” I shout and the jeep comes to a stop. The bear looks at us nonchalantly as we sit in silence before lowering its hairless white snout and feasting on a termite mound, occasionally licking its paws.

“He may look cute, but he would rip your face off if he had the chance,” Saranga whispers. ‘My friend came across a bear while looking for a honey nest in the jungle. He managed to cover his face when he was attacked, but ended up in hospital for three months.”

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

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

That evening, as we discuss the sloth bear sighting and the rain pours down on the cobblestone streets outside, we hear a huge crash, bang, bang and boom.

I cover my ears and crouch under the table as the local musicians in the corner stop playing and some of the staff rush out. We are told that a lightning strike has struck the church next door, perhaps only 10 meters away from where we are sitting.

We witnessed ferocious sloth bears and dodged a lightning strike in one day – an exciting reminder of the miraculous power of nature.