Galle Fort

Sri Lanka

Wanna buy a villa?

On my first visit to Galle Fort, back in 1992, a hustler approached in the street and whispered, “Pssst, wanna buy a villa?”.

I wish I had. Properties inside the Fort are now the height of designer desirability. On my last visit, one ‘do-er up-er’ was available for a mere $3 million and change.

And for that tidy sum you barely even get walls.

Although in February, Galle’s lack of walls is the ultimate indulgence.

The swankiest villas flow breezily onto an airy rear portico and courtyard garden, with, if you’re lucky, a refreshing pool. Arched doorways open nonchalantly onto an elegant front veranda enabling through-draft and sneak peeks from the street. The vibe is wafty, glammy and thoroughly jammy.

Galle Fort sits on an isthmus poking into the Indian Ocean, protruding off the south-westerly corner of the island once known, appropriately, as Serendip. From where the term 'serendipity' took its meaning.

Taprobane, Simhalan, Ceylon, Eelam … the country has since had more names than I’ve had egg hoppers. (Well … almost).

The egg hopper, by the way, is Reason #3 in its own right to visit Sri Lanka. Picture a bowl-shaped pancake, with a baveuse egg sitting at the bottom. Into this goes your breakfast curry of choice, along with a cooling coconut sambal. Cut the yoke and marvel as liquid gold mingles with your spicy feast!

If that hasn’t already transported you the 5,500 miles to Galle, imagine a colonial town nestled within 16th Century ramparts. Built by the Portuguese, fortified by the Dutch and pimped by the rich and famous. It has flavours of former colonial splendour, seasoned by time, spiced up with designer flair and punctuated by the odd 'surely-beyond-repair' ruin. Galle Fort embodies the melting pot that is Sri Lanka, with refinements, like gelato and Ralph Lauren styling.

The exquisite patina of time

It’s a heady recipe. Wooden porches, overgrown courtyards, swaying palms, creeping bougainvillea, slatted shutters, flaking patina, dark shadows penetrated by shafts of scorching sunlight, sudden tropical downpours forgotten in an instant, exuberant surf held back by the robust parapets, washing fluttering flamboyantly on the line, tuk tuks clustered together for maximum colour-clash, a gaggle of convivial locals curious to chat, commanding churches sat beside collapsing villas.

With the influx of all-you-can-eat tourism, many visitors tick-off Galle on a rushed day-trip.

But don’t.

Whilst you could ‘see it all’ in a few hours, it takes several days to really see it all.

The exhausted bicycle propped against an invigorating red door, neither adequately locked, of course. The uniformed guard vigilantly protecting an artfully dilapidated shell of a building, roofless but far from worthless. Curly Sinhalese signage officially alerting you to goodness knows what. It barely seems to matter here. Free range peacocks roaming the rooftops with a combination of arrogant ostentation and distinctive warble. Dutch and English cannon pointed, not at the threat from the sea, but at the real threat from the Sri Lankan mainland. A funny tune on repeat signalling the arrival of that morning’s tuk tuk bread delivery.

Exhausted bicycle, invigorating door

With a manageable grid of practically-named streets, Lighthouse Street, Cross Street, Middle Street, Rampart Street, etc., it’s hard to get properly lost here. But losing yourself in this charming, intoxicating, ‘just so’ place is entirely the point.

This involves exploring some of the lesser side streets, poking your nose into each of the shops to take in their wonderful courtyards, ditto Galle’s various museums, seeing off one of the occasional shower from the vantage point of your pool, and of course rambling around the ramparts at dawn (better than sunset, when tourists swarm there).

That serendipity takes about five days to start to touch you.

Everything new except the blue shutters

One afternoon I stopped in Court Square to paint a swarm of tuk tuks gathered around a huge banyan tree in front of the magistrate’s courts. At 4pm on the dot, the court buildings emptied and the tuk tuks sped off one by one, emptying the square. Two minutes later, stumps had been set up in their place and the whole square transformed into an impromptu cricket pitch. I found myself at silly mid-on, dodging the odd enthusiastic cover drive, as I completed my painting, hastily and somewhat less zealously.