If you make a long pilgrimage to southern Sri Lanka to a hotel designed by the great Sri Lankan architect Geoffrey Bawa, it’s hard not to be overwhelmed by a heretical, ahistorical thought. Was Bawa, who died in May 2003, the reincarnation of the Mughals? Visit the Heritance Ahungalla, where a line of palm trees greets you as you’re greeted by a pool in the driveway. Stepping into its lobby, a series of vistas—the dramatic entrance reflected in the adjoining swimming pool, as well as the colors of the sky—resemble an optical illusion. In the future, the Indian Ocean may be just a mirage in an illusion.
In a 1985 speech in Dhaka, Bangladesh, Bawa said that this view worked its magic even on its creator: “If the world were flat, you would see Africa on the horizon.” Taj A mirror image of the waters surrounding the Mausoleum and those of Fatehpur Sikri in Agra, the Cinnamon Bentota beach, a 20-minute drive along the same road, offers a different kind of Mughal charm.
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The reception dome features ShamianaEna de Silva designed a giant batik suitable for welcoming a medieval emperor. 160 panels depict every animal that walks the meadows of this sacred island: wild boars, elephants, peacocks in the wild, all in bright colours.This is jungle book Redesigned for Asia, except the snakes are now beautifully set against an iridescent blue background. De Silva also included some mythical animals, a theme that Ismail Raheem also adopted in his paintings of the lobby. The lobby is also home to one of the most beautiful bars in the world, with views of the waves lapping the beach in front and the quiet, almost ascetic Bentota River next to it.
Along Sri Lanka’s southern coast, from Colombo to Galle, are dotted with Bawa-designed hotels and villas, a gorgeous visual of another era. Arguably nowhere on earth is beach bum and architectural esthetician so seamlessly combined. At Villa Bentota by KK Collection, the garden is nothing but grass and giant coconut trees, with a frangipani or two. In the club house next door, a checkerboard entrance with a small pond was replaced by an equally minimalist lawn. Only the bare roots of another ancient frangipani wrestle with the ground below in slow motion, and a train passes by, disrupting the scene. The neighboring villa is Boutique 87, where another nature documentary was also staged. Guests staying in three rooms can enjoy 17 acres of grounds, surrounded by rice fields, overgrown paths and narrow pools hidden among the foliage. A statue of Hanuman leaps from the shadows as you make your way to the pool. Are there animals around? I asked as I walked through an overgrown field. “Sometimes there are snakes,” says one hotel worker casually, “an occasional wild boar, and a lot of monkeys.” Boutique 87 is often booked by film crews and commercial directors. No wonder: this really is a movie scene.
Cinnamon Bentota Beach provides access to the beach. (Courtesy of Bentota Villa Club)
I usually gravitate toward small villas in Sri Lanka, but when I visited recently, Cinnamon Bentota Beach had excellent service and design that was hard to match. Not surprisingly, the Bawa’s designs of the late 1960s have been repeatedly imitated across Sri Lanka. It was restored a few years ago by Channa Daswatte, who in his youth worked closely with Bawa and was a leading architect in South Asia (buildings in India include a museum in Porbandar, Gujarat, to hotels in Bangla and Odisha) with great care. The many chairs and lamps designed by Bawa and recreated for the lobby renovation give a Scandinavian design flavor, with ceiling panels imitating a Sri Lankan sunset by textile genius Barbara Sansoni. It’s an unforgettable venue for a grand wedding or a quiet drink at the bar, where bartenders masterfully concoct cocktails to suit your guests’ whims. The hotel even has an enthusiastic employee, Yashika, who guides guests around and learns about the different artworks. I learned that even during renovations, Laki Senanayake’s dinosaur-sized metal peacock hadn’t been removed from the lobby.
I stayed for a few days at Club Villas and Ahungalla Heritage when visiting in January. The latter was built in 1979 by a large Sri Lankan conglomerate as the country was emerging from the excesses of the socialist state. Due to the barrage of disasters from the pandemic and last year’s economic crisis, which has hit the tourism industry hard, parts of the hotel feel in need of a facelift. But that’s more than made up for by the charm of the front desk staff, whose smiles shimmer as much as the scenery around them, and the free all-day juice bar serving freshly made wood apple and pineapple juices. A singer with a Rastafari braid covers Bob Marley songs every night on stage in the Mughal Hall of Mirrors, and he phrases it beautifully: “Welcome to beautiful Sri Lanka, ladies and gentlemen , the politicians here are crazy.”
I’ve been visiting Club Villas (designed by Bawa in the mid to late 1970s) since I was on vacation with my late parents twenty years ago. Its elegant simplicity and monastery-like setting may not be for everyone.I often feel grateful and lost, Orhan Pamuk calls it sad, nostalgia for another era. Memories of that holiday are almost entirely recalled, but it is also admirable that the Japanese masters have remained true to Bawa’s vision. It is easier to pretend to be the owner of the manor because he rarely sees other guests except when eating.
The past few decades have made Sri Lanka synonymous with sadness and beauty. Tourists may not notice the severity of the economic crisis. The lawns and swimming pools of the villas and club villas are located next to the railway tracks. People mull over this most unequal economic recovery: commuters leaning out of crowded third-class cars while you daydream on your pool bed. The comic memoir of Sri Lankan-born author Michael Ondaatje, run in the familyHe seized on this contradiction when he wrote that the Wall Street crash of 1929 had “terrible effects: many (horse races) had to be taken over by the military.”
Even in a crisis, however, Sri Lanka has an unusual team spirit, as evidenced by the attack on the presidential palace last September, which was festive with a picnic. Last month, while waiting for sunset, I was walking along Bentota Beach, picking up plastic bottles, when I realized two teenage boys had been swept away by the rapids. After struggling for half an hour in rough seas, the first man was rescued by a bald lifeguard. Another mission required teams of four, using small flotation devices that looked like Styrofoam cylinders. People watch this scene with a sick stomach, but also with admiration for the fragility of life and the strength of the desire to sustain it. When I spoke to a kneeling lifeguard, he said he was 53 years old. The two teenagers had to be hospitalized. The manager of the Cinnamon Bentota Beach resort came out to see if the hotel needed a pool attendant.
That night also felt like a morality play, in which hardworking, intelligent people somehow collectively overcame the great challenges that fate often threw at them.
rahul jacob is right of passagea collection of travel essays.
