Postcard from Sri Lanka

INSPIRATION | CABANA TRAVEL | WORLD OF CABANA

Anastasia Miari travels through Sri Lanka, exploring the design legacy of Geoffrey Bawa – one of the most influential Asian architects of the past century – while peeling back the layers of the island nation. From its colonial past to its unique flavors, flora and fauna, Anastasia uncovers fascinating stories, beautiful places and the very best of Sri Lankan hospitality. 

BY ANASTASIA MIARI | CABANA TRAVEL | 20 NOVEMBER 2025

A Sri Lankan house designed by Geoffrey Bawa and photographed by Mark Luscombe-Whyte for Cabana Magazine Issue 19. 

I arrive in Sri Lanka expecting the chaos of India. Wary of a busy city, I have only one night in Colombo on my itinerary, but I make sure to visit the late, great architect Geoffrey Bawa’s residence on my first day. Master of the Tropical Modernist aesthetic, Bawa was one of the most influential Asian architects of the past century, with various bolt-holes dotted around Sri Lanka leaving a lasting legacy on the island.

His three-storey townhouse in the well-heeled district of Kollupitiya is available to visit by appointment only. Inside, I’m toured through a maze of rooms that link a row of houses together. Bawa’s signature approach of bringing the outside in is evident from the moment I step over the threshold. Sunlight streams through cleverly positioned mini courtyards, while carved wooden columns stand between corridors and outdoor water installations, creating the perfect soundscape when tropical rains wash into the city.

Bawa’s tropical-flora-filled home stays with me throughout our month-long journey. It becomes a barometer against which I compare every space, and I begin to recognise his legacy everywhere, seeing how tightly Sri Lanka is woven into the fabric of his work.

Sri Lanka's famous cuisine was a highlight for travel and food writer, Anastasia, during her month-long trip. Image © Anastasia Miari.

At Maniumpathy in Colombo, a 100-year-old family residence transformed into a boutique hotel, all suites face a lush courtyard where we spend our first evening dining on mustard-spiked fish curry and a famous Jaffna-style thali. A fan offers brief respite from the thickness of the city’s air. The space feels emblematic of a pre-tourism Sri Lanka: antique rattan furniture, plush rugs and rich printed textiles imported from neighbouring India nod to the wealth of the family who once lived here.

I don’t linger in Colombo for long. It’s lilac watercolor sunsets and powder-soft beaches I crave most when away from South Asia, so that is where I’m headed. Our driver speeds past acid-green rice paddies and dense jungle landscapes, a nodding Buddha mascot on the windscreen accompanying us all the way to Mawella.

A luxurious strip of beach between the increasingly developed Tangalle, Hiriketiya and Ahangama, Mawella is everything my obsessive Google Earth research promised. Hermit crabs are the beach’s main inhabitants, shuffling along in their shells at sunrise and sunset as I walk past, taking in the drama of the fisherman’s catch. Sri Lankan fishing boats are unlike any I’ve seen before: oruwa, slim wooden catamarans painted in pastel and jewel tones, visible for miles as they glide across the bright blue morning horizon.

Sri Lanka is full of wildlife, from elephants, buffalo bathing in the river and enormous crocodiles basking on rocks © Anastasia Miari.

I spend a week here, sequestered in the quiet luxury of Halcyon Mawella, a well-chosen location for a boutique hotel of beach cabanas with direct views of the monkey-frequented jungle that lines the coast. My shoes lie forgotten, tossed beside an antique colonial icebox that serves as a minibar. Everything here is considered, from the printed trim on the mosquito net draped over our four-poster bed to the cut-out lattice windows that allow the crashing waves to soundtrack our sleep.

I feel little desire to visit the buzziest bars of Hiriketiya or explore Tangalle’s market. The Sea Dragon beach shack, serving excellent egg-fried noodles with seafood, is outing enough while we slow to a Sri Lankan pace of life. Mawella offers the ultimate luxury: the joy of doing absolutely nothing.

Recharged after a week of coconut sambal and egg hoppers for breakfast, it’s time for the adventure segment of our trip. Determined to beat the crowds, I choose block five of Yala National Park. The Warden’s House, a new lodge of just four suites, sits metres from the Menik River and promises a more personal approach to the safari fever that has swept Sri Lanka in the past decade. Suites are tastefully furnished with four-posters and vintage rattan furniture, but the true draw is the proximity to nature paired with boutique-hotel service. We’re welcomed with a poolside gin and tonic and a barbecue by the fire pit, along with a warning not to stray too far: the lodge sits on seven acres of jungle, frequented by elephants in the evening and crocodiles along the riverbanks.

“This is the least frequented part of the park and a more ethical way to see the real Yala,” says resident naturalist Kelum Dharmawardana as he takes us out to track the park’s famed leopard. We rarely encounter other vehicles, a stark contrast to the more crowded blocks of Yala and nearby Udawalawe.

As we bump along dirt roads, Kelum explains that Yala was once a British shooting ground, with many of the roads established during colonial times. Of Sri Lanka’s ‘big five’—the leopard, elephant, sloth bear, blue whale and one more—four exist within the area we cover as the sun sets over the plains. We spot elephants, buffalo bathing in the river and enormous crocodiles basking on rocks, but the leopard remains elusive. Patience and luck, it seems, are essential ingredients for a successful safari.

Our final leg takes us into the hill country for crisp mountain mornings and a taste of Sri Lanka’s largest export. Amba Estate, a 55-acre tea farm, is my introduction to the origins of my favourite morning beverage. Guests stay in cottages set within leafy gardens, and the estate operates as a social enterprise, encouraging local careers in tea and spice cultivation with profits shared among workers.

Views from Thotalagala, one of the oldest plantation bungalows, once belonging to Lord Lipton © Anastasia Miari.

I’m glad to have bypassed crowded Ella in favor of this flora-surrounded haven. We wake early to hike through verdant plantations, cool off in a local river and marvel at sweeping views over an old mountain pass once used to transport goods by elephant.

A quiet moment with a cup of hand-rolled black tea is cut short by the sight of a startlingly green snake sliding past. Higher still into tea country, I round off a month in Sri Lanka in pure luxury at Thotalagala, one of the oldest plantation bungalows, once belonging to Lord Lipton. Now a boutique hotel of seven suites, I’m shown to the Lord Lipton suite, complete with four-poster bed, claw-foot bathtub and antique furnishings salvaged from the estate.

Our room opens onto sloping lawns and an infinity pool overlooking rolling tea-covered mountains. We’re welcomed with high tea on the lawn—Sri Lankan flavors woven into British formality, with dainty samosas and tea poured into floral china. Despite high season, we encounter few other guests, sharing the space mainly with monkeys.

Sloping lawns and an infinity pool overlooking rolling tea-covered mountains at Thotalagala © Anastasia Miari.

It’s here I experience the very best of Sri Lankan hospitality. Breakfast is a white-tablecloth affair of coconut egg hoppers, dhal and spicy sambal, followed by a tuk-tuk ride to Lipton’s Seat, where Sir Lipton is said to have envisioned Sri Lanka’s tea industry. Along the way, tea pickers in brightly coloured saris move gracefully through the fields.

Eager to escape the crowds, we hike back through a local village instead of taking the usual tuk-tuk route. We’re invited into a tiny house for milky tea, bananas and chocolate biscuits, greeted by neighbours, children, flowers and kittens. The host keeps refilling our cups, smiling warmly. A good brew, I learn, dissolves all language barriers—whether served in fine china or a plastic cup.