Sri Lanka

Sri Lanka hit differently from the moment I landed in Colombo. It has this coastal heat that sticks to you, and every few kilometres the landscape shifts — mangroves, old churches, Hindu temples painted in loud yellows and pinks, all crammed together without any sense of contradiction. Negombo was my first stop and it felt like the island was showing me everything at once: fishing boats that looked centuries old, a Catholic cathedral that could have been transplanted from colonial Europe, and a Hindu kovil two streets away blazing in turmeric gold.

The coastline along the west was grey and choppy when I was there, with the Indian Ocean pushing hard against the sand and the hotels sitting awkward behind coconut palms. The beach had rocks jutting out, the waves weren't gentle, and the sky was the colour of wet cement. I liked it more for that — it felt honest rather than postcard-perfect.

What stayed with me was how Sri Lanka holds its different histories without making a big deal of it. A roadside Calvary in a quiet neighbourhood, a Dutch colonial-era church two blocks away, a temple with a fresh garland over the door — all of it just existing together, ordinary, like this is simply what a Tuesday looks like here.