A blog on muses, adventures, and guides for the traveler.
Explore Series: Mount Beerwah
We spent last Sunday starting our first Australian adventure of the year heading up to Mount Beerwah, located in the Glasshouse Mountains of Queensland, Australia. Itching for some new content and new friends, Jake used Instagram as a megaphone reaching out to those wanting to explore the area. Lucky for us, Kieran graciously reached out to us keen on showing us what golden hour could really look like.
We filled our Sunday morning with chores, getting the apartment together (a.k.a. getting more plants) before heading up to meet with Kieran and his girlfriend, Emily.
The drive from Coolangatta was a lengthy one at best, having to go directly through Brisbane to get further north to the Sunshine Coast region. It roughly took about 2 and a half hours before we pulled off into the wilderness. We reached Steve Irwin Way and headed into a stretch of dense terrain consisting of luscious palm trees and greenery.
We pulled into the hiking trailhead for Mount Beerwah where we met, exchanged smiles and hugs, and got ready for one serious hike. Kieran warned it wasn't for the faint of heights, or for those that couldn't handle a good rock scramble.
The hike started off as normal, but then we reached the point. The point at which most hikers shake their heads in an instinctual no. The point where most decide to turn back. The point at which my rock scrambling skills were put to the test. There were about two shear rock faces to climb, only going straight up.
As we summited the second rock face, the trail leads you up to an other-worldly terrain with jutting ledges and craters that look like the moon. Dust like fine silk settles underneath your feet, swirling up in clouds of powder. What were once black leggings turned powdered gray and soft to the touch.
We climbed through the area, to the right of the cliffs finding a point at which the mountain created a sort of mezzanine. While the three photographers shot away, I indulgently took in the landscape. It had looked like something out of Jurassic Park had come alive. There we were, like ants scrambling above a dense jungle interspersed with farms. In the distance you could even see the ocean. I never knew places like this existed.
I ran into a man coming down from the summit, and he warned that we'd better head down soon. There was about an hour left of light and the hike down would be precarious to say the least. I told him we had headlamps and he shrugged, going on his way. A helicopter whizzed overhead, looking for potential rescue missions for people doing things just like we were.
Golden hour had piqued as we continued to summit into blue light - the moment when dusk becomes the friend of color, creating a backdrop for the eyes to feast upon. We all took in the moment through our lenses as the last bits of usable light dwindled behind an oncoming storm cloud.
With the wind starting to whip at our necks, it was time to head down. I was hoping we'd be able to pass the rock faces we had climbed before it was completely dark. Only about a quarter of the way down had full darkness hit, leaving just the light of our headlamps and phones to guide the rest of the way.
In a way, darkness was much more comforting. Only being able to see the few feet in front of you tends to banish the consequences of falling in the dark. We slid and scooted and hoisted and slipped our way down to the very bottom. Worn and tired and filled with the satisfaction of knowing you filled your day with dirt.
Sunday Sessions
Magical days do exist here and they come in the form of surfing for hours in crystal clear water while the sun bakes you to a delightful crisp. We ventured down to Bryon Bay to spend our Sunday with a friend we'd met prior in Sri Lanka. The girl surfs what's become an iconic surfboard, a watermelon painted on a longboard to be exact. She also handled the water temp like a champ, no wetty needed in her case.
The rest of us clamored into our sandy wetsuits to charge the crisp winter waters Byron Bay. After surfing until our arms were tired, we spent the rest of the day snacking on hummus (thanks, Steph!) and chips before making a trip over to Suffolk Park Bakery and munching down BLT sandwiches and a pastry each.
We had some company, as the waters at the moment have been filled with dolphins and wales. Jake was lucky enough to capture a few dolphins surfing in their own waves and catching fish. Our friends had one pop up right next to them mid-surf, to give a friendly hello.
There's nothing better than a day spent in nature, by the water, with salt brimming your skin in a fine layer and friends to share it with.
A Mission to The Paddy Fields
We spent the first day of the new year surfing at a reef break in Sri Lanka by morning and hanging in a rice paddy field by evening. I couldn’t have thought of a better way to start 2018. This year, we’re making it a mission to do more with our time, more efficiently. There are too many moments in time thrown away delving into the depths of our mobile phones or waiting for those “other” magical moments to happen. Sometimes, you just have to go out and create them yourself.
If you’ve ever been to Sri Lanka, you’ll know that things tend to slow down to a sweet, dull lull. While this often times has me driving myself mad, it does force me to live in the present. It reminds me that we only have the now to exist, and sometimes that really is all you need. I remember once reading that thinking of the past will bring about depression, thinking of the future will bring about anxiety, but thinking in the present - well, the present should be about happiness. For if all you have to worry about is within your life in the exact moment and shared space, then what else really needs to be there?
We set off at about 5 in the evening to shoot around in some rice paddy fields back in the jungles of Ahangama - a coastal town in Southern Sri Lanka. These might just be my favorite moments of traveling, coming together with a team to go out and create those moments that reflect the now. We set off into the jungle and found a road that split the paddy field in two. Almost immediately, a crowd of locals started to gather in fascination with what we were doing. Young children ran up and down the road, smiling and giggling, and of course asking “What is your name?” But when you answer and ask them in return, they simply smile back and run off. You get the idea it's a phrase they remember in English, but have no idea what it actually means.
Soon uncles, fathers, brothers, cousins and mothers joined in. Each motorcycle that passed eventually stopped to say hello and introduce themselves. We took a few passes on a little motorcycle to shoot some drone footage before deciding to change locations to shoot some photos.
We came across a smaller, more removed paddy field that you could walk into via a gully. Albeit a bit muddy, it was still nice to be out there catching the last of the day’s rays. All throughout each drive, you could here the locals shout out “Helloooo!” “Happy New Year!” “Where you going?”. The longer I’ve been here, I’ve gotten more accustomed to tuning these sound bites out as they are often constant and without intention, but today I joined in reacting to them. As we rode off into the twilight the full moon was peaking out in between some coconut trees.
Crack The Sky Yellow
Goose bumps covered my skin, acting like dried glue, preventing me from moving fluidly, but instead with jerky, trembling motions. The ground was a mass of snow and ice. Each step in it produced a satisfying crunch. The wind cut like a hot knife, singing my exposed skin. I never knew cold could burn. Grandmother’s jacket served as my armor, the hood of it encased my head, leaving nothing but my eyes, nose and lips exposed. The only thing I desired was to feel the sun again. I hobbled down the wooden stairs and across the property to reach the trailer my family used to camp in, the only item that would bring me closest to the sun. Stomping around the corner of the trailer, I found the steel ladder that would bring me to the top of the trailer. My hands clutched onto the metal rods, sending a burning sensation down my arms. I hoisted myself up, despite my burning hands, only to find the roof’s cheap, plastic material corroded and stained with dirt. It resembled the snow on the ground below me.
I laid on my back. The sun slowly crept around my exposed face, as the warmth of it seeped into my chest. A conversation between my mother and father ensued in the distance, asking of my whereabouts. I decided to remain there undetected, if only for a few minutes more. It had been seven months since my family had moved from California to Colorado, a difficult endeavor for all of us. As soon as I had begun to feel warm, the wind picked up once again. Tears rolled down my cheeks, sliding down to my temples, only to be frozen by the wind that would slip into the folds my hood had created. Numbness became a ubiquitous way of life. It was much more than a side effect of the cold. I could never fully escape it. I did not want to be here any longer, but there was no other place to call home. I felt as though a war had ensued between me and the unrelenting climate. Although I was defeated, and worn, and tired, much like the house we had moved into, we would stay.
I was 15 when my parents decided we would move out of the state. We moved four times before this decision, but always throughout California, so I only half-heartedly believed them when they stated it would be in Colorado. They had played this kind of game about five times every year. Their weekend past times involved driving to a town they’d never been to and look at open houses. My parents would talk to the real-estate agents, ask about the foundational structure of the property and its listed value. Then they would pack us into the car, give an opinion on the house, and never bring it up again. I think these ventures let them escape their lives for a moment; they could become someone new. However, the move to Colorado was different. My dad spent about a week alone in Colorado before the move, looking at different towns where he could buy property. He said this was the kind of thing he needed to “feel out”.
When they stood by their decision, I looked forward to the move. For months prior to moving day I would spend time searching for properties online in Colorado, mostly ranches and farms. I’d print out the property details and present them to my dad. I pretended we would live on the mountainside in a small town where everybody knew everyone’s name. I would make a new name for myself. I could be anybody. I had created an entire fantasy future of what my new life would be like. It’s not that I was afraid of leaving everything behind. I wasn’t fleeing the crutches of an old life I held in California. I relished the idea of the future, of the unknown. Curiosity is woven into the fibers of my being. This was simply an opportunity to feed the urge to escape every day monotony. Perhaps this was even a genetic trait, as I had grown accustomed to the wayward lifestyle my parents had raised me in. If anything, I was fearful that this move was just another one of their attempts to temporarily flee their reality. My imagination of a life in Colorado could be trampled down to a mere dream in the wake of their decision.
I think even my parents were surprised by their own actions when we embarked on the move. They had made their decision final, signed in black ink at the Colorado State Bank and Trust, guaranteeing the title of the house. My father had decided on a dilapidated farm house with four acres in Parker. When we arrived to the house, sight unseen, my mother began wailing and screeching, “I can’t do this anymore!” After two full days of driving, with three cats in a makeshift carrier in the backseat, with no air conditioning, she had had it. She got in the car and drove off in a panic, leaving me, my brother, and my dad behind momentarily.
My brother called it a shit hole. It was. All the windows in the house were inside out. There was an old, unattached pot belly stove sitting in the middle of the living room. The basement was nothing but concrete pavement holding up two pillars. The kitchen floor modeled peeling yellow linoleum, only to reveal splintered wood underneath. I picked up a rusted broom stationed next to a window and started to sweep the inch of dust that had accumulated in the living room. It was as if the previous owner had left the broom there as a condolence for the sorry house he had left behind. My dad stared off at the road my mother had sped off down. I told him that it would be okay. We would stay.
We tried to sell our house in California before we left, but the market was so bad we were left to rent it to a group of rowdy college boys for a year. The house tied us back to the state. After experiencing the harsh winter season, part of me hoped we would never be able to sell it. I hoped the market would keep our stake there, so we would have a home to run back to if Colorado proved to be too much for our family. But the following year after the move, my dad decided he would go back and fix the house up one last time and sell it. My brother, Christopher, and I tagged along in the hopes of seeing old friends and everything we had left behind. To travel cheap, we towed our trailer that we used for dirt-biking trips as a mobile motel, sleeping at rest stops and camp sites while my dad fixed on the house. The longer we stayed in the trailer, the more California felt like the past. We were vagrants stationing ourselves in the depths of our memories.
My father had finally finished all the repairs on the house. A final “sold” sign was staked into the ground we once gardened in. The day that it came to pack up and leave I stole a white dump bucket splattered with dried paint from the back of my father’s truck and began filling it up with lemons from a tree in our old front yard. I did so stealthily and rapidly so nobody would know I was plundering a tree that was no longer mine. I twisted and ripped each lemon off its branch, tossing it in the bucket with a satisfying thud. When the bucket was overflowing, I still kept picking these lemons, piling them into a makeshift bag I had made by lifting up part of my dress. When my father came to the front yard, he saw me fumbling around, attempting to carry all these lemons. He smiled and went into the garage, only to come out with another bucket. We stuffed each crevice of the buckets with as many as we could, threw them into the bed of the truck and slowly drove away.
About eight hours into the trip returning back to Colorado, we had reached the town of Barstow, California. It was 117 degrees. The only buildings in town were a gas station and a restaurant claiming they offered the “world’s best gyros.” As we pulled up to the gas station, we soon discovered the sheer heat had shut down the power. There would be no gasoline. The blue and white restaurant seemed to draw travelers inside. We followed suit, and entered the building in the hopes of seeking refuge in an unforgiving desert. Everyone just sat there, waiting for the circumstances to change as they fanned themselves with paper plates. Nobody could purchase anything, but nobody wanted to remain outside either. I kept looking at the menu, wishing the machine would work to make an ice-cold strawberry milkshake. Dad claimed they were the best he’s had in his entire life. The next stop was just outside of Las Vegas, but we knew the truck would run out of gas before we ever reached it.
There was nothing left to do but move forward. As the truck kept moving, I kept waiting for the tires on the truck to melt into the pavement and peg us to the desert forever. We were carrying with us the remnants of furniture packed in our trailer, which dragged along behind us. We had left our house in California for the last time, it was no longer ours. Along with the lemons, I insisted we bring back an old rusting metal cabinet that used to hold my dad’s construction tools. The white paint was peeling off to reveal a burnt, corrosive rust. “I’ll fix it I swear,” I whined, which was enough to convince my dad to throw the metal junk into the bed of the truck. I stared at it now, with a placid smile spread across my face knowing that I succeeded in keeping it, keeping the memories. Next to it sat the two buckets of lemons, so yellow they seemed unnatural against the desert landscape. As waves of heat swirled around my face, I thought of all the things I would make with these lemons: Ice cold lemonade, lemon custard, lemon bars, lemon sorbet, lemon poppy seed muffins, lemon marmalade. My hands would carefully roll the lemon out before slicing it and grate the soft, fine zest into tiny little piles of yellow. I would squeeze the juice out to add a zing to almost anything. I would use every last bit of these lemons.
I was sitting in the back of the truck with my head crouching out of the tiny window in the middle. I had my back to the road, instead of looking forward. I saw everything in a kind of vacuum. The road behind us was swallowed by the wrath of the heat and the surroundings blurred into a strange mesh of colors, streaking my peripherals with shades of brown. The wind was in a bind, disrupted by the gap between the truck and the trailer. It was stuck, but kept hitting me in the face from time to time, whipping my hair into my eyes. I felt an undeniable sense of peace as if the heat had filled every cell in my body, warming me into a state of comfort despite the fact that my white dress was permanently plastered to my skin. My mind was fixed on the lemons when the truck began to crawl along the asphalt.
With one last cough, it rolled to a stop. The truck crooned and lurched as it was put in park and then, suddenly, everything stood still. Nobody said a word. The truck filled with silence. Heat continued to blister the inside of the truck. Even though we were no longer moving, my eyes were fixed on the trailer and the road behind us. I refused to turn my body around and face forward. A minute crept by as we sat there in silence. The heat was suffocating us. My eyes remained glued to the buckets of lemons until the sound of the door opening ripped my train of thought back into reality as the truck beeped, warning us that the keys were still in the ignition, ding, ding, ding, ding, slam.
My dad circled around the truck before reaching into his front left pocket to pull a Sherman cigarette up to his lips and strike a match. The flame engulfed the tip of the cigarette and, as it caught on fire, it slowly smoldered into a red, hot ember. With one long inhale, he sucked the tobacco into his lungs and exhaled with a sigh as smoke lingered around his face, trapped by the heat.
My brother then hopped out of the truck and began to kick the dirt beneath him. He picked up rocks on the side of the road and chucked them as hard as he could, mumbling curse words under his breath. He complained about the heat and the stupidity of being stuck in the middle of the desert and the fact that my dad could only go a few hours without lighting up another cigarette. But I knew with every rock he threw that the anger within him was not about the heat, but instead about the fact that California was no longer our home, no longer our life. Time was moving on without us and people were changing. It was time to move forward, even when we felt like we were stuck.
I looked back down at the bucket of lemons. Maybe there were 40 lemons. Think of all the things I could do with 40 lemons. I didn’t want to leave the truck but the heat continued to slap me in the face. I peeled myself from the seat and slid out of the truck. The dirt was like a fine powder beneath my feet. It puffed up and swirled around my toes, sticking to the sweat that had accumulated between them and my sandal. I knew the truck would stop eventually, it was inevitable. We were without gas, the fuel that would keep our truck moving along mile by mile. And I also knew that waiting in Barstow would do nothing for us. It was 117 degrees. There would be no strawberry milkshakes and I would not eat the best gyro in the world. There was nothing left for us there. In this moment, I didn’t want anything. I didn’t feel anything. I would sit there with my bucket of lemons for the next four hours, waiting for whatever was to come next.
How To Travel Sustainably
Traveling sustainably is something very near and dear to my heart. Spending so much time in nature, it's easy to fall in love with magical landscapes and places. These places become idolized and encapsulated in our photos, displayed on Instagram and other platforms. However, what many people don't see in the photos they glorify are the trash and waste that may be cropped out. Just steps away from model are heaps of trash. This is the not so glamorous part about traveling. And especially in developing countries, every day choices that you make can have an impact on how this trash accumulates and impacts the local communities you love to visit.
I've compiled a list of some items you can take with you and how to use them traveling throughout the world. After all, it's a beautiful place. We just need to treat it as such.
- Use a Tiffin Container.
Tiffin containers are little metal tin boxes that have an air-tight seal. You can find them online or in restaurant supply stores for more affordable options. Carry them when you go out for a meal and might have leftovers, or when you're packing a lunch. These containers are great to take just about anywhere. A plus - they stack on top of one another, making it easy to carry your whole meal and say no to plastic, cardboard, or styrofoam take away boxes.
- Bring Reusable Produce Bags
I got some produce bags made of cotton netting from Life Without Plastic. Think of every veggie or herb you've bought and packaged in a small plastic bag. This stuff accumulates faster than we even think it to. An easy way is to use reusable plastic bags or opt for no bag at all. When in other countries, wrapping things in plastic bags is done without second thought. It's important to ask for no bag, or simply take the produce out and hand the bag back thanking whoever gave it to you if there's ever a language barrier.
- Carry a Cloth Bag
Stuff it in your suitcase, in your coat pocket, or in a purse as you'll never know when you might need it. Having a cloth bag on hand will eliminate the use of a plastic bag, over and over again.
- Hydrate with Hydroflask
What about water bottles? To minimize impact on plastic use I carry around a Hydroflask to keep me hydrated. If you are traveling in countries with questionable water, you can find reusable water bottles that have filters built inside or opt for larger bottles if you have to. Many places may use refillable gallon jugs that you can fill your water bottle from.
- Stainless Steel Straws
Vacations are made of coconuts and cocktails, and unfortunately a lot of plastic straws. My first step is to always say no to a straw and take the drink without it. However, if you're a straw person try using a stainless steel straw instead. You can keep it in your bag in a carrying pouch for easy access when the moment strikes.
Food Guide | Weligama
The most asked travel question of all time - where should we eat? Our lives revolve around food. Entire days can be dedicated to where you'll spend your next meal. If you've come to Weligama, you'll find this growing town a bit confusing on where to find your next meal. I've gathered a guide on where to eat based on some spots I've frequented more than I'd like to admit. Sri Lanka is famous for their rice and curry, but if you're not feeling the turmeric I've compiled a list of where you should eat during your stay in Weligama.
Zam Zams $
Conveniently located in center city Weligama next to the clock tower, Zam Zams is a local joint with local prices to match. You'll see it on the side of a road with a giant, cartoon chili pepper next to the name. Everything costs anywhere from 150 to 500 rupees, which is about $1 to $3. A great option to fuel your stomach if you are traveling on a budget. Their shwarma is tasty, and if you're looking for a local meal that offers leftovers to boast, opt for their kottu. Keep in mind Sri Lankans can handle some real spice, so be cautious when you order if you are spice wary.
Hangtime Hostel $$
Save this spot for lunch or dinner. There aren't many places open in the evenings in Weligama, especially if you are craving some western fare. Owned by two of the best Australians we know, Hangtime Hostel is the perfect place to come to mingle, relax, and refuel. Stairs will take you all the way up to their expansive rooftop which offers bar seating to view Weligama Bay while you eat. When I'm feeling naughty, the fried chicken burger doesn't disappoint. If you are craving vegetables, my choice is their chickpea salad topped with salty feta and tomatoes.
Chef Akila $$
Make reservations. This place is always a full house, and there's good reason for it. Pulling up you may be a bit underwhelmed - plastic furniture greets you with a small shack that serves as a kitchen. But make no mistake, this place has some of the best Sri Lankan food I've ever had. The spot is owned by Chef Akila himself, where he cooks and prepares each meal for his patrons. The menu may change depending on what he was able to pick up that day, but whatever you choose you can guarantee it will be fresh and tasty. My favorite dish is the fish coconut curry, served with a bed of rice.
Nomad Cafe $$$
Matcha Latte + Chai Latte
Nomad Cafe is truly a blessing for Weligama. Owned by a group of Spaniards, Nomad Cafe is a small vegan restaurant that serves up some of the best food I've ever tasted. They know how to carefully craft each meal to host flavors that are truly exhilarating. Order one of everything on the menu - I know I did. If you can't decide, go for their jackfruit tacos. You'll have a hard time believing it's not pulled pork.
Ceylon Sliders $$$
With a revamp in their menu, Ceylon Sliders has now come to the table offering unique and tasty cuisine that was so needed for this little town. Now offering breakfast all day and lunch until 3, this place is one of my favorite spots to get something you're really craving. For me, it's always a beef burger and Ceylon Sliders has one of the best I've ever tasted. I'd highly recommend stopping by for lunch, as these guys are serving up food you just can't find anywhere else at the moment.
Last Moments in Koh Tao
Staying in our little bubble at Sai Daeng Resort it's a little hard to leave. With food at your fingertips, a clean shower around the corner, and a big comfy bed to sprawl out on it's a little slice of heaven my Sri Lankan self hasn't experienced in quite some time. However, there was a bit more shooting we had to do to take full advantage of showcasing all that Koh Tao Island has to offer, which is a lot.
This tiny little island is actually a lot bigger than one would imagine from running a quick google image search. We came to find small, paved island roads crammed with all kinds of fruit shops, roti stands, convenience stores, bike rentals, tourist gear galore tents - you name it, you can find it here. It's honestly been a breath of fresh air coming from somewhere that's fairly isolated in comparison. To take full advantage of the day, it meant an early morning rise.
We took off at about 7:30 AM with our scooter rental (about 200 baht in town). The air was crisp and fresh, oxygenated by the lush green jungle that surrounded us. Sunlight streamed through the dense forest and peaking palm trees to tickle our skin in warm touches. The town itself was just waking up - most shops were closed or opening. Driving by you'd see a storekeeper sweeping the front area of his shop or people start to unlock their doors, ready for the influx of tourists for the day.
This place is widely more touristy when compared to Sri Lanka, but I presume it'd be much less than other islands in Thailand. From what I've understood, Koh Tao Island is less well-known, but just as amazing. Even as I'm writing this I'm staring at a beautiful hawk soar above this stretch of sky, playing in a downdraft looking for its prey. It's incredible to be this close to nature, yet still have the comforts of modern civilization.
First stop for us was Koh Nang Yuan Island, probably one of the most photographed islands in the area, and for good reason. We had visited the island on foot earlier in the week, but missed our opportunity to get some aerial shots. To get to the island would've been a time consuming mission, so we opted to take a scooter out and get as close as possible instead. Still remaining on the island of Koh Tao, we managed to get both photographs and footage of this amazing place early enough to beat the crowd of tourists and late enough to get some light to shed on the turquoise water.
Next stop: Sairee Beach. Yes, this place is a tourist trap. But it has it's perks as well. If you're not one to like touristy areas my suggestion is to get here early. There's a bit of a party scene in Sairee Beach, which works as an advantage if you're early enough to beat the hungover to the beach. We tried going here the night before for sunset pictures and it was all too crowded with plenty of people cruising with brews. So the second attempt was at about 9:30 in the morning and I'd say it worked out just right.
There are a few "famous" coconut trees at the beach notorious for their unique shape. They jut out parallel to the ground and then bend at a right angle where the palm fronds sit. I'm not sure if this is a natural creation or a manmade one, but whichever the case it made for some stunning photographs. A taxi boat sat right next to the tree, very fitting for life on the island. They keep people off the tree with a sign and some barbed wire, so you'll just have to stand next to it if you're keen on taking a picture with it.
After these two places, we were ready to wrap it up and get to work editing and writing back at the resort but not without one last stop. After being in Sri Lanka for a while I've really started to miss a good cafe. You know the kind where you can get settled in, let the decor and vibe set your mindset for those few espresso moments - short and bittersweet. There are all kinds of trendy little spots in Sairee Beach, but we chose the one closest to our tired feet - a little cafe called New Heaven Cafe.
Rather than a cup of coffee I opted for something I couldn't get anywhere else, a tip I'd suggest for anyone traveling to somewhere new. Jake and I ordered two Thai teas - one iced and one hot. They came in unique glassware - the hot in a v-shaped mug and the iced in an old-fashioned milk jug, sitting atop a small wooden tray. In each glass sat three delicious layers you blend together for a sweet, rich taste - sweeten condensed milk, freshly brewed black tea, and whipped fresh milk. I love how much sweeten condensed milk is incorporated in Thai drinks and treats. Although I know it's probably not the best for you, my taste buds can't help but lick every last bit left.
We headed back to Sai Daeng for the afternoon to get one last snorkel and pool dip in before the sun sets and the night will lead us to our journey back to Sri Lanka.
At the Office: Ko Tao, Thailand
With a hop, skip, and a jump we stepped off a ferry amassed with tourists to be shuffled into the back of a pick-up-truck-turned-taxi. With some laughter, hugs, and introductions on their way we held tight to the bars of the truck with the wind ripping through our hair and flashes of green moving through our eyes. Honey, we weren't in Sri Lanka anymore.
Jake and I were set to work a production team for Sai Daeng Resort on behalf of Davies + Dixon. With plenty of photographs and footage to collect for promotional videos, we had our work cut out for us, but not without some fun underway.
The truck pulled up atop a steep hill and laid out before us was a thin stretch of island, complete with it's own terrain and views of Shark Island. We were welcomed into the home of the owner and creator of this magical resort, Soon. The guy is "king of the castle" and for good reason - he's a legend. His gray beard comes to a point, which he'll give several strokes as he looks out into the distance to say what you'd expect to be a deep thought of wisdom, but is actually a dirty joke. The man's sense of humor is endearing and his storytelling will not only make you laugh, but give you the chance to reflect on your own life. He's not afraid to tell you he's 73 years old and isn't afraid of death. It's as if he's worked his whole middle-age life in preparation for the end of his life. With a cold beer in hand sitting on his outside deck we cheered to our trip and to life worth living.
Walking into our room I couldn't help but touch the freshly washed linens and towels, turn on and off the faucet, smell a bar of soap, and look out at one of the most incredible views I'd ever seen in my life. The week was an intense stage of production and shooting, but well worth the trip.
A Trip to the Fruit Market
You know those days where you can't help but smile? Maybe it's the weather, maybe it's the mood, maybe it's the people that filled your day. Whatever it is, today was that day. The heat settled into my skin like a warm blanket, to be cooled off with a wafty breeze strong enough to sway the tops of coconut trees to and fro.
The morning jumped with a 6 am start time to head over to Ceylon Sliders for their bi-weekly yoga breakfast event. But this day was different. There has been a new holistic chef, Dani, flown all the way from Bali to help Ceylon Sliders with a revamp of their menu. I was eager to see what she had prepared, ready to pick her brain for the next how-to secret. Everything she crafted in the kitchen comes out beautifully prepared, with seasonings that send your taste buds to heaven. This morning was no different, as we photographed a beautiful spread of smoothie bowls made of jackfruit topped with frozen raspberries and fresh flowers. Overnight chia oats soaked in rich coconut milk topped with pineapple came in small shooters. Matcha bliss balls provided a textural element, made of almond-matcha goodness.
I opted for computer work over surf, a hard choice to make on such a sunny morning but I figured I'd fill all my last days here with surf and it's okay to let one go. The day was a social one, bumping into friends and colleagues throughout the day. One of my favorite aspects of working by the cafe is running into people I know that share a surf story, a moment in time that leaves you grateful to be alive and in good company.
As the time neared sunset it was time to head to the fruit market. I was dreaming of juicy mangos, and knew the exact spot to find one. At the edge of Weligama sits one of the larger fruit markets. The fruit is fresh, you can tell in some cases even picked that day. The family that owns it bubbles with excitement any time someone decides to pop in, eagerly shuffling you this way and that cutting off pieces of their latest fruit. Some you want more of and some you never want to try again.
It's simple days like these that linger. That have you considering a flight cancellation. That have you go, oh wait, just one more day.
A Poem | The Modern Woman
salt water or chlorine
sticky or parched
which do you prefer?
which repels the mosquitos?
to taste nature or to absorb industrialism
as she lays in the nude with her body drenched in the remnants of the afternoon sun she chooses salt water
- but only to return back to room conditioned by artificial, cold air
a modern human in her natural habitat
Mornings in Mirissa
Meet Thilli Mauranga. One of the best surfers we've seen, this guy lives for waves. We've had the pleasure of living with him as our roommate and friend. When he's not running ship at the cafe at Ceylon Sliders, he's always in the water. He got a brand new yellow, Bing Concave Keel for Christmas and he's been putting it to good use. Thilli is a man that knows everyone, so we had him take some pictures in Gitano's shirts before eagerly jumping in the water.
The morning was pretty epic - Sri Lanka put on a natural haze effect distributing the light in a soft glow. The backdrop in Mirissa is also pretty stunning, making for some photos to remember what it feels like to wake up and surf in Sri Lanka.
Guide: Weligama, Sri Lanka
Weligama Bay sits at the southern end of Sri Lanka, providing a large bay juxtaposed with a main road barreling straight down the coast. A surfer's haven, this place boasts some of the easiest waves to start learning some surf skills on. We recommend taking a bus ride in for full Sri Lankan effect - you’ll find yourself digging fingernails into bright glittery blue vinyl seats sealed in clear plastic and melded together with shiny metal frames that are modeled after an ornate bed frame. The Sri Lankan coast will stream together in a vision of rapid flurry, melding colors of emerald, deep blues, greens, yellows, and browns.
If the visual sensory detail isn’t enough, you’re ears will be filled with bumping, pulsing music I can only classify as Sri Lankan. The beats will reminisce it’s larger counterpart, India, but make no mistake in differentiating the two. Each bus comes with at minimum, four subwoofer speakers - just in case your friends at the back of the bus can’t hear it. Everything moves quite slowly in Sri Lanka, but the buses - well, the buses have their own rhythm. They own the streets as well as your life the moment you see one. That is, if you don’t hear it first. I’m convinced each bus driver has engineered his horn to be louder than his competitors. Smile, laugh, let the wind take your hair. After all, you’re in Sri Lanka.
Once you get to Weligama, your day should look something like this:
Rise with the sun
One of the best parts about Sri Lanka is the way time moves. It can be achingly slow at times, but when it comes time to leave you’ll be wondering where the time went. The best way to seize the day here is to rise with the sun. The entire being of Weligama does. It’s within these moments that you can feel your senses awaken just as they would’ve a thousand years ago. You’ll hear birds cooing to their neighbors, water droplets sliding down the leaves of Frangipani trees, and you’ll notice your breath as if it was the first sip of air you’ve taken in your life.
My favorite mornings have involved early morning yoga, followed by a morning surf. For yoga, the earliest class you’ll find is at Ceylon Sliders right at 6:30 AM. You don’t have to be bright-eyed and bushy tailed, you just have to make it there and up the stairs to their rooftop deck.
Grab Breakfast at Ceylon Sliders
Since you’re already there, sit down in the cafe for some breakfast to fuel your morning. You can expect to find a real cup of coffee here, no mixed grinds in water. I recommend eating the granola bowl - I tried it once and found myself licking the bowl. It’s filled with curd, chia, pomegranates, mangos, papaya, watermelon, and homemade granola. But the kicker is pouring sweet coconut honey all over the top, letting it seep down and form a pool at the bottom of your bowl.
If savory is more your style, I’d recommend the corn fritters. They’re the closest thing you’ll find to mexican flair in Weligama and will be enough to fill you up after a hearty surf.
Surf in Weligama Bay
Before or after breakfast, it doesn’t matter the time as long as you make it a priority to surf here. Beginners, all hail Weligama bay. In all honesty, this is where I’ve heard the term “smeligama”. This will depend on the time of year you visit. In the rainy season - August/September through November/December, expect to find the water a little less than clear. However, once the rain clears up so does the water. It’s now January and I’ve found myself staring straight down, through reef and sand to find nothing but emerald, beautiful water.
You can rent a board pretty easy around here. If you go out front of the Marriott hotel, there’s a stretch of surf camps with boards galore. Expect to pay about 1,000 rupees for the day, or about 250-300 rupees for an hour. If you haven’t surfed before, it’s a good idea to get lessons as the learning curve is quite steep.
Lunch at Hangtime Hostel
Now that you’ve worked up a mean appetite surfing comes lunch. I’ve frequented Hangtime Hostel more than I’d like to admit, but the owners are amazing and the food may be the best lunch in Weligama. If you’re feeling naughty, go for the fried chicken burger. Spicy coleslaw sits atop a fried chicken cutlet served on a fresh bun, with fries. If you feel like you need a vegetable or two, order the chickpea salad. It’s complete with a spicy honey sauce and feta cheese for some salty oomphs. They also have the best coffee in the area, so if you need a pick-me-up get it here.
Sunset at Tiki Bar
Sri Lanka has some pretty spectacular sunsets with soft hues of pink and orange. Make your way to a cliff top bar known as Tiki Bar at the edge of Weligama. Grab a beer (Lion, of course) or a cocktail and a friend or two for the perfect place to watch the sunset. You’ll have views of Weligama bay and the Indian ocean for miles and miles.
Dinner at Chef Akila
Make a reservation. No, seriously, make a reservation. This little restaurant sits next to Tiki Bar and it’s entirely worth the wait. From the outside you won’t think much of it’s modest exterior. However, the food is some of the best in Sri Lanka. If it’s the high season you’ll need to book well in advance for a seat at Chef Akila. The owner makes everything fresh to order, so you’ll find some things on the menu change on availability. My favorite is the fish coconut curry, it’s bowl-licking good. For dessert, try the deep fried ice cream to end your day.
Weligama is on the cusp of transforming into a major travel destination in Sri Lanka. It sneaks up on you, and before you know it you'll find yourself here mesmerized by the water, waves, and weather. It's at the epicenter of Southern Sri Lanka, providing the perfect starting point to venture to and from other beautiful places. Weligama has become a sense of home to me, as it has for many travels either nomadic or more permanent in nature.