I tried to escape London for Sri Lanka to write a book — it didn't all go to plan

It’s safe to say that ‘What’s the weather like there?’ is the last question any Londoner wants to hear in January from their jet-setting friends. It was definitely the last thing my mum wanted to hear as she dragged our dog, Lord Pinkerton the First, around Lincoln’s Inn Fields in freezing rain.

I learnt my lesson, and decided not to quiz her further. You see, this year I joined the ranks of London’s self-employed creative community, using the money I should’ve saved for my tax return to embark on my own twisted version of an "Eat, Pray, Love" getaway. It didn’t take long for me to realise, however, that everyone seemed to be heading to the same place: Sri Lanka.

‘What’s this about? Why is everyone in Sri Lanka?’ my friend messaged me after I posted a photo of a villa at Malabar Hill hotel—an upscale, boutique spot a 10-minute drive from the surfers of Weligama. I asked Instagram, somewhat tone-deathly, why everyone (including Jessie Ware and half of London’s creative scene) was geo-tagging the island. A man responded, ‘wtf do you mean? I’m in Portsmouth.’ I deleted the post and decided to make this my own personal investigation: Why has everyone flocked to Sri Lanka this year, and what makes the island the perfect place to ditch London’s beloved Mexico for?

After a 10-hour flight squeezed between a mother and baby (no shade on motherhood, but agh) I landed in Colombo. It’s a city often overlooked by travellers eager to hit the beaches, but I stuck around for a couple of nights. I checked into Colombo 7, and from the rooftop bar overlooking the city, I sipped my first Arrak (the local spirit) and messaged the owner of ‘The Dodgy Bar Crawl.’

Tip #1: Do the Dodgy Bar Crawl with its quirky owner, who takes you to places no guidebook would ever recommend. Tip #2: Bring rehydration salts.

Next, I headed to Malabar Hill, a serene escape from the surfer crowd in Weligama. If you’re after total tranquility, this is the place. The beach is nearby, but let’s be honest—I was all about disappearing for a month. Unfortunately, no matter how far you travel, you can’t escape the doomscrolling couple—those who sit next to each other, glued to their phones, loudly watching TikToks. It’s a universal experience, even in remote Sri Lanka.

I then made my way down the coast to Tri, a sustainable luxury hotel set on Lake Koggala. The fish at the restaurant is incredibly fresh. And as I was soaking it all in, I found out a friend from London was DJing at the local club, “Trax. CLUB!” Clearly, it was time to abandon my book proposal and let loose for one night.

That night, I, of course, lost my phone. But after some creative Google Translate exchanges, a lovely man on a tuk-tuk (or ‘tiktok,’ as I heard some Brits call it) returned it within an hour. Yet another testament to how kind the locals are. I don’t see that happening on Columbia Road.

Sri Lankans are genuinely brilliant. One local told me a story about how a group had jumped in to save an Instagrammer who fell out of a train while trying to get the photo everyone wants on the Ella to Kandy train ride. In a Western setting, people would likely be filming the incident for TikTok for likes.

As for the trains, they’re fun—as long as you’re not risking your life hanging out the back for an Insta pic. I’ll always remember one ride from Ella to Kandy, mostly because it was where I suffered a classic Brit abroad moment. I had burnt both my feet and one buttock (singular) in the sun the day before, which significantly impacted my enjoyment of the 7-hour journey. The train ride, dubbed ‘the most beautiful in the world,’ became a bit of a struggle.

Along the way, I met a man from Wigan who excitedly told me about a tour he took where the guide used natural herbs to remove hair from his arm. He proudly showed me his smooth wrist— ‘all natural herbs did that!’ he said. ‘Oh for godsake it’s VEET!’ screamed his wife from two rows back. That sweet, sweet English cynicism never leaves us, even at 30,000 feet.

I also managed to lose all my knickers on the journey. A bag of dirty laundry had slipped under my seat, and I ended up quite literally airing my dirty laundry in public.

Another tip: Skip Ella and Kandy city centres, unless you’re looking to have a panic attack (though mine was probably aligned with Trump’s inauguration). Instead, head to Santani, my favourite spot on the island. Avoid tourist hotspots and head to this tranquil retreat nestled in the hills. Created by a rather trendy Colombo native, Santani blends relaxation with luxury. Here, you can indulge in herbal oil massages and try the famous egg hoppers (which, by the way, I wish I had the mental capacity to learn how to make—maybe next time).

Eventually, it was time to return to the tax return I’d been avoiding. But this trip had turned me into a new person: 90 per cent calm and 10 per cent citronella residue. As one Santani guest described their experience, I was now “a sentient, mindful cloud.” As I boarded my return flight to London Heathrow, I prayed my sentient mindful cloud would not be full of rain.