1 week Ago By Sadaf Shaikh
Until last year, I never had an answer during game night when someone would ask me to name one place that I had visited that I wouldn’t mind visiting over and over again. I would go through a sizzle reel of all the places I had been to—Paris, Amsterdam, Brussels, Turkey, Mozambique, New York, Seattle, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Hawaii —and wonder if there were any I wouldn’t mind finding myself in year after year. Would I never tire of looking at the frescoes in The New York Public Library? How many times could I ‘find myself’ among the silent souls buried at Paris’s Père Lachaise Cemetery? Could diving with sharks in Hawaii give me the same adrenaline rush each time? Eventually, I would answer, “I don’t know if I’ve been there yet,” and pass the baton to the next person.
This changed when I visited Sri Lanka last year. Landing at the airport in Colombo , my friend and I were less than thrilled about the two-hour drive ahead of us to get to our destination in Galle, but once we were in the car, the traffic-free expressway provided a delightful red carpet for our arrival. We rolled down our windows as our SUV whizzed past acres of trees without ever slowing down, the wind and rain washing the ennui off our city-worn faces.
A hush had fallen over the city by the time we crossed the portcullis of Galle Fort and drove past the palisades, ramparts and bastions onto our hotel. When the car finally idled to a stop in front of a beautifully lit edifice without any signage, the hotel staff magically appeared to carry our bags to our rooms. We were ready to sink into bed almost immediately, but as we completed checking in at the reception, I couldn’t help but feel a presence around me.
Not a malevolent ghost, mind you, but as if this place had perhaps hosted a ball at some point. A butler noticed me looking around curiously and came to my rescue with lore about the place. Originally built by the Dutch East India Company in 1684, Amangalla was the local headquarters for the Dutch military and later became the British army’s centre of operations.
In 1863, it was converted into The Oriental Hotel for passengers travelling between Sri Lanka and Europe looking for a spiffy layover. As Colombo rose in popularity, the once filled-to-the-brim hotel began to wear a deserted look. In 1899, the hotel’s fortunes began to look up again as it was sold to the Ephraums family, who renamed the property to New Oriental Hotel and restored it to its former glory.
Finally, in 2004, the property was turned into the ultra-luxe Amangalla, which continues to stand proud 20 years later, many of its original walls and stairs preserved in pristine condition. Gripping the balustrade, we made our way up the stairs to our room on the second floor (there are no elevators in Amangalla, as the founder didn’t want to alter the original facade too much). The wooden steps creaked under the weight of our feet—a sound that was amplified by the long corridors on each landing.
It felt impolite to talk and interrupt the silence , almost as if conversations from long ago were taking place around us and we were eavesdropping . Opening the lock to our suite—each room at Amangalla is under a heavy padlock and key—we entered our home for the next three days. And what a home it was.
As we walked in, there were twin vanities to the left (which meant my friend and I wouldn’t have to argue about who got to wind down for bed first), a free-standing bathtub to the right (in which we could lazily read our books together) and a shower area without a door (this, I didn’t quite understand). Further on, there was a king-sized four-poster bed with enough pillows for us both to sleep on, hold onto and tuck between our legs. Beyond that, the suite opened to a large living room with enormous arched windows, a chaise longue, a dining table with writing instruments and a fridge stocked with complimentary soft drinks.
We were quick to turn in for the night, lulled to sleep by the snug duvet and the soporific whir of the rattan fan spinning overhead. The next morning, we woke to sunshine spilling into our room and the song of the birds perched on the para mara trees outside. We walked to breakfast in the T-shirt and shorts we’d slept in—Amangalla may be a five-star hotel but at no point does it make you feel like you need to be dressed to the nines to impress fellow guests.
In fact, that was the peculiar part. We did not see any other guests; neither on the previous night while checking in, nor on our way to breakfast . It felt like an unspoken telepathic agreement had been established between guests crossing the threshold into Amangalla: ‘I understand you’ve come here to get away from people and I’ll respect that if you respect my desire for the same.
’ As a journalist working in Mumbai, I’m constantly networking with people to find my next big story, and it feels like my social battery is always in the red no matter how long I charge it. Staying at a hotel where it felt like I was the only guest and rooming with a friend who understood the beauty of comfortable silence felt like an underrated blessing. That said, the complimentary a la carte breakfast we ate on the verandah overlooking the tree-lined Church Street gave us plenty to talk about.
My friend opted for a traditional serving of rice-curry, and string and egg hoppers with sambol and dhal . I went with the banana and Nutella pancakes and French toast accompanied by a selection of homemade jams and a basket filled with warm bread straight from the kitchen. Picking food out of each other’s plates, we discussed what we could do that day and decided to explore the fort itself since the staff had been kind enough to draw up a list of recommendations.
There was enough on there to fill not just one day but perhaps five, so we set out immediately, checking off the Galle National Museum, the Dutch Reformed Church, Galle Library (also Sri Lanka’s oldest library, built in 1871), Law Court Square and Historical Mansion Museum; walking on Parawa and Pedlar Streets and checking out their restaurants, cafes , bars, jewellers, hotels, boutiques and souvenir shops; and eating authentic Neapolitan pizzas at Aqua Pizza. Silence had once again descended on Galle Fort by the time we returned to Amangalla at 9pm and while my friend and I were both tired, we weren’t sleepy yet. We quickly changed into our swimsuits and tiptoed to the gorgeous pool, sliding in without making a splash.
We swam a few laps, chatted with each other by the pool’s edge and spent the majority of our time floating on our backs, looking up at the star-spangled sky as the water muffled all ambient sound. When we emerged from the pool three hours later with pruney fingers and bloodshot eyes, we were feeling rather cheeky about having hoodwinked the staff and managing a midnight swim. But the two glasses of coconut juice placed by the traditional ambalama pavilion on which we had deposited our bathrobes before getting into the water made us realise that they had secretly been our accomplices.
The highlight of any Aman hotel in the world is its spa, each one promising a unique experience inspired by local traditions. And sure enough, the next morning our butler came to fetch us for our ‘day of wellness’. As we made our way to the hydrotherapy area, my friend and I once again whispered to each other how refreshing it was not to cross paths with another guest in this museum-like hotel.
First, we were led to a dimly lit treatment chamber with a thermal pool, sauna , steam room, cold plunge pool and dressing room. The spa attendant explained the sequence in which we were to use these facilities: get baked in the heat of the sauna, followed by a dip in the ice-cold plunge pool for a revitalising hit, then unwind in the massage pool before heading to the steam room to limber down. Post this, we were led to the capacious spa with high ceilings and tall arches, where we were each treated to the full Aman spa experience.
Mine was via the Signature Treatment, an indulgent three-hour event which included a cleansing scrub and wrap of native cinnamon and lotus, followed by a full-body massage and a sandalwood facial. Kneaded, contorted, moisturised and oiled, we were served tea , scones and sandwiches on the verandah outside our room from which we could see the terra cotta roofs stretch out into the azure Indian Ocean beyond. For those looking to squeeze more out of their time in Galle, Amangalla also arranges for temple tours, mask-painting sessions, market visits, sunset cruises, private island cooking classes , biking tours and tea plantation visits.
If you’re anything like my friend and me and want to remain hotel-bound, you’ll keep returning to the green-tiled pool and that’s where we found ourselves on our last evening in Amangalla, this time within prescribed timings. We were sure this was where our lucky spell of not seeing another hotel guest would be broken—it was, after all, a beautiful evening and the sky was dotted with long-tailed kites for the Derana International Kite Festival. Nobody ever appeared, but there it was again—that undeniable feeling of another kindred presence from another time.
Perhaps they had been there all along. Perhaps they have been calling me back ever since. Perhaps they now whisper an answer into my ear when I am asked to name one place that I have visited that I wouldn’t mind visiting over and over again.
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