Discovering Sri Lanka

I landed in Colombo on December 1, carrying far more than luggage. I brought the tangle of emotions that comes with leaving a place that changed me. Thailand was a season of growth and discovery; I know I will return. Yet stepping onto Sri Lankan soil felt like crossing a threshold I had sensed for months but never fully understood.

I did not prepare a blog post before arriving because the transition felt too raw for me to narrate in real time. Now, a week into life on this island, the words have arrived on their own. I feel ready to share what brought me here and what I have found.

My decision to move to Sri Lanka was shaped by something deeper than curiosity. Occasionally life speaks to us, quietly at first, asking if we are paying attention. The first whisper reached me during a writing retreat in Koh Samui, during an unexpected conversation with a stranger. It planted a question in my mind about a place none of my friends had visited, a country I knew almost nothing about. Instead of fading, that curiosity expanded. I kept returning to it, as if something was drawing me toward a new adventure waiting to unfold.

My gratitude for Thailand runs deep. My time in Khao Sok in particular remains one of the most profound experiences of my life. It gave me clarity I did not know I needed. It taught me to trust my instincts again. That trust became the compass that pointed me toward Sri Lanka.

Knowing only the basics about this country, I tried to piece together research in the most straightforward ways: conversations with travelers in coworking spaces (no one had ever been there), long nights spent exploring the internet, and eventually hours spent scanning Apple Maps in satellite mode, zooming in on coastlines and villages. In the end my decision came down to instinct. I chose a small village on the southwestern edge of the island, tucked between historic Galle (once settled by Portuguese explorers) and the quieter town of Matara. Kamburugamuwa. A place I could barely pronounce at first!

Everything aligned. My villa sits in a pocket of coastline that has not yet been overtaken by tourism. A footpath leads directly to one of the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen. The water is impossibly clear and the sand shines gold at sunrise. The marine life is vibrant; each morning and evening I walk the shoreline, take a few quiet moments to breathe, and remind myself that this chapter is a gift.

The villa itself is charming, but what has struck me most is the family who owns it. The son, an electrical engineer in his early thirties, handled my booking with a warmth that immediately put me at ease. His parents live just steps away. His father visits me daily, offering food or checking if I need anything. Our vocabulary overlaps only in fragments, yet his kindness is unmistakable. It is communication beyond language.

This has become a pattern. Each day I meet locals who introduce themselves even if they know only a sentence or two in English. I am offered tea or coffee without expectation. The roads are chaotic, the markets energetic (an under statement), the pace far faster than what I left behind in Thailand, yet people consistently pause to welcome me. Their hospitality is unlike anything I have encountered anywhere.

To call Sri Lanka a tropical paradise feels almost inadequate. The fruits, landscapes and waters are extraordinary. There are more than 7,500 wild elephants across the island and Yala National Park, just an hour from where I live, offers safaris that look like scenes pulled from a film.

The food has been an unexpected revelation. I came with no expectations and have been surprised again and again. The flavors here are bold, layered and creative. The owner of my villa treated me to dinner in Weligama, choosing a restaurant he thought might feel familiar to a Westerner, Mr. Taco! I ordered a gluten-free chicken quesadilla, adapted with Sri Lankan influences. One bite in, I stopped and stared at my plate, genuinely amazed by the creativity and depth of flavor. The chef came out to gather my thoughts, and his sincerity matched the quality of his food.

I stand out here. There is no hiding that I am from the West. Yet the constant smiles and greetings have softened something in me. I have always been more introverted, content to keep to myself. Here, the warmth of strangers has nudged me out of that, even if just a little. It feels like unfamiliar, welcome character development.

Sri Lanka is still a developing nation with all the complexities that come with it. There are moments of adjustment, some unexpected differences. Yet every challenge is met with a solution just as quickly, as if the place itself wants to reassure me that I am exactly where I am meant to be.

One week in, I feel grateful, inspired and grounded. This new chapter is unfolding at its own pace, and I am learning to follow it with curiosity, openness and gratitude.