Our Sri Lanka trip started with a great pivot. Between the obsessive news-watching and the data points we gathered back in Bangalore, we learnt that the south of Sri Lanka was the only area not devastated by the floods. Coincidentally, that is where Niki was headed for his surf camp, where I was initially supposed to meet up with him after my silent retreat. With Vipassana being cancelled, I decided to tag along with Niki to Weligama. It’s not particularly glamorous to tag along when I don’t plan to do any surfing, I know, but I can’t go on this long journey and expect every single moment to be glittering. At least, that was the conversation I had with myself while making a small promise: I would find a way to make it make sense.
So we reached Colombo in the hours past midnight, with no grand itineraries. The thing about having low expectations, though, is that any small spark can light things up. We spent the next day exploring Colombo, and the first thing that blew our minds was that when we booked a Pick-me cab, a proud maroon Maruti 800 showed up. I had not sat in (or even properly noticed) a Maruti 800 since I was very little. In fact, we have a common memory thread in our family where we often discuss, “Remember when we were all small enough to fit into the dicky of our old Maruti 800?” (For reference to our friends that are not familiar, we were a joint family with seven similarly aged children. In the early 90s, wherever we went, far or near, we went together, and that travel almost always involved a Maruti 800). After getting over my initial, unexpected joy, I genuinely looked around to see how much space the car’s trunk even had and arrived at the obvious conclusion: we must have been tiny as kids. That, or our Maruti 800 was effectively a clown car 🤡.
By that evening, we had walked around the busy city of Colombo and ended up at Thuna Paha for dinner. For those who don’t know me, a man called Mark Wiens is a God-like figure in my life. When he says “😳 wow 🤩” in his videos, you can rest assured that the establishment is going to be trapped on my radar forever. One of the biggest joys in life is slowly moving those establishments from “want to go” to “went” on my Google Maps. Thuna Paha turned out to be a great first introduction to Colombo because the buffet menu contained almost every single dish—from starters to desserts—that Sri Lanka has to offer. On this night alone, we tried about 20-25 new dishes (I know it’s hard to believe, so I present the receipts from my phone gallery 😝).
Do you remember how, when we were kids, Dad used to sneak treats from his “high tea work conferences,” and that’s how we ended up eating a donut for the first time when we were 10? No? Just my dad then? Well, it was a very sweet gesture and inspired some “snack-smuggling” of my own. The next day, as we sat on a platform at Colombo Fort Railway station waiting for our train—which was, of course, delayed by two hours—we nibbled on Seeni Sambol buns from the night before, tucked away neatly in tissues. Thanks, past me, for thinking of future me <:D.
These spicy buns are a reminder of the Aalu buns from our collective childhoods, but also something completely different since they are made with a spicy and sweet onion relish. At this point, allow me to go on a metaphorical tangent for a minute: While our journey has only just started, this has been the recurring theme in Sri Lanka. Everything feels similar to India, but the differences are louder than the similarities. The trains run late or get cancelled with little to no notice (which, to be fair, is also a daily reality across Germany thanks to our lovely Deutsche Bahn), but you don’t encounter the same smells or stains at the station. The people are in a rat race, hurrying to get to where they are going, but no one seems to want to kill each other to get ahead. Random people might approach you to sell something or enquire where you are from, but no one makes you feel uncomfortable or creeped out as a female for simply existing in a public space.
Even the chaos of the roads feels different. Where in India, honking is a constant, aggressive scream, here it’s a short, functional “beep”—more of a 'heads up'. It’s as if the entire country has collectively decided to dial it down by a hundred. But enough of my armchair sociology; my brain can only handle so much culture processing before it demands a snack. On the 3rd class compartment of our train to Weligama (no guys, we aren't trying to be "chindi" on this trip—we bought regular tickets, accidentally ended up in 3rd class, and then it was too late to move), I found myself eyeing the lady selling “isso-vade” on the train. “Looks interesting, right? But having prawns from God-knows-when on a train journey seems deliberately reckless.” This is how we agreed to settle for cut pineapples with chili powder instead. Not sure if that was a “much safer” decision, but it made sense at the time.
Doing this journey by train was very cool, not just for the beautiful coastline, but for the way it felt like we were tunneling deeper into the island. In Colombo, the presence of religion had felt loud and official—accompanied by a large military presence across the Buddhist temples and Buddhist bhajans playing on loudspeakers along the streets (??? this was so much confusion ???). As we headed south, that energy didn't entirely dilute. Every few miles, a massive white stupa or a simple meditating Buddha statue would rise out of the coconut trees like a silent anchor.
It was only occasionally that the pattern broke: a sudden cluster of houses or a small village where the rhythm of architecture and the outfits of the local population shifted just enough to signal a Muslim or Christian pocket tucked away from the main road. These were brief flashes of a different life before we went right back to the meditating Buddha, reminding us of the striking 70.2% Buddhist population in Sri Lanka.
Before you start assuming that I have suddenly started sounding so very smart, let me just inform you: I had a very detailed conversation with Perplexity on this train ride, seeking an explanation for what I was seeing in real time. This was when I learned about the "70%" statistic, which actually breaks down to roughly 70.2% Buddhist, 12.6% Hindu, 9.7% Muslim, and 7.4% Christian. I remember diving deep into the differences in Buddhism as it is practiced in Sri Lanka vs. the rest of the world. Niki and I were already wondering, “Doesn’t Buddhism seem to have a different flavor here?” (We debated this as if we were experts who had closely observed many Buddhist countries—we haven't 🙈). On this train ride conversation with AI, I learnt that Buddhism feels different here because:
It is tied deeply to national identity and Sinhalese culture.
It has a protected status within the constitution, making it a state-protected and politically active faith.
It often incorporates local, Hindu-influenced, and ritualistic practices that distinguish it from other traditions (hence the bhajans-on-loudspeakers situation).
On this train ride, we both realized how little we knew about Sri Lanka beyond the occasional headlines. We decided to change that by seeking explanations through podcasts, books, and, in my case, my free Perplexity subscription. But more on that later 😊.
Our South Sri Lanka chronicles will feature more than just food and data points; they might also feature a secret first guest—the first person to “Join the Gap.” (In case you can’t tell, I am determined to make “Join the Gap” happen—more determined than Gretchen Wieners was to make “fetch” happen. Please go and watch Mean Girls for reference).
As always, thanks for sticking around <3
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