At dawn, the necklace of coves that comprise Ahangama fishing village appear untouched by the centuries. Neat waves ease themselves onto empty, golden beaches; clusters of coconut palms stretch into a pearlescent sky; and, in the bay below, traditional stilt fisherman perch patiently on wooden poles planted in the warm shallows. Guests slowly pad out of our white-washed surf lodge and join me, all of us barefoot, bleary from jet lag and quieted by the oceanscape. Our eyes catch a surfer boldly paddling out towards the reef break, a respectful distance from the locals; this is the only anachronism in this timeless tableau, a sign of the surf scene that’s taken root in southern Sri Lanka over the past two decades — and a reminder why we’re all here.
“There’s so much machismo and ego in surfing. Let’s change that,” Portuguese surfing coach José Bernado says to our group of a dozen mostly-female rookies, exemplifying the central mission of Soul & Surf, a game-changing brand of boutique surf camps that selected sleepy Ahangama for its second outpost in 2015. We’re donning rash vests and ferrying our beginner’s softboards over to the fleet of colourful tuk-tuks waiting just beyond the open-sided Canteen cafe, the heart of the jungly, beachfront complex. “The beauty of this sport is that we don’t have to be perfect to enjoy it; we do it for the endorphins, for our mental health,” José tells us. “Look out for each other and don’t be afraid to admit you’re learning. Let’s make a tribe in the water.”
A short ride away, we pull down our surf boards from the tuk-tuks’ roof racks and weave through monsoon puddles, bar shacks and fish stalls onto the mile-long sands of Weligama Beach. “This is considered one of the best places in the world to learn,” local coach Sashin Asanka says of the beach he grew up on. “It’s shallow, warm, sandy and has a break that delivers waves in all tides. But surfing wasn’t happening here until after the tsunami. That changed everything.”
The devastating 2004 disaster saw aid workers descend on the region to support reconstruction; afterwards, some of these foreigners set up the first surf schools, taking their inspiration from the established scene at Arugam Bay on the east coast, to which dedicated international surfers travelled even throughout the 1983-2009 civil war. Today, surfing is the main engine of the tourism economy in Weligama. Despite the early hour, throngs of surfers bob in the bay, as bright and plentiful as the shoals of tropical fish flitting beneath the waves.
The Soul & Surf surf team gets to work not only drilling us on the moves we’ll need to pop up on our board, but teaching us surfing etiquette and how to read the tide, too. “We want to equip you with the toolkit for a lifetime of surfing,” coach Ashan Ishanka tells us, the sand littered with his diagrams illustrating wave formation, right of way among surfers and steady ‘box’ breathing. It’s one of the most involved lessons I’ve had. Since the pandemic, when the desire to learn to surf struck me out of the blue, I’ve ceremoniously wiped-out in beginners’ classes across Europe — but, once waist-deep in the tepid waters of the Indian Ocean, I find that theory and practice finally come together. I’m catching wave after wave, riding my last one of the session all the way back to shore where a heap of king coconuts await for rehydration.
A safe haven
The days that pass on this week-long retreat are physical yet nurturing. Long, too, and strangely elastic — filled with surprising discoveries in and around Ahangama: beach cricket matches, Buddhist temples, bustling cafes serving flat whites on the main strip and new boutique hotels, like Amma and The Kip, tucked into back lanes, I find I have energy to burn, staying up late to watch surf films on a projector as part of an outdoor movie night, and dancing through sunset at Soul & Surf’s Sunday Sessions, a DJ set where chilled tunes are served up to the community alongside the best barbecue in town. I set my routine by the tides and take my rhythm from the laid-back yet effervescent hosts, who frame proceedings with sage advice.
“The purpose of our practice is presence, not peak position,” yoga teacher Bronagh O’Shea intones during our daily, element-themed sessions in the rooftop shala, alternatively flowing through watery vinyasa movements or activating our cores with fiery ashtanga asanas. José also insists on nowness and a repudiation of perfection as he runs through video analysis of our surf technique, captured each morning by a videographer. “We don’t always see things clearly until we slow them down. Let’s make micro adjustments, but know that there’s no one way to surf; eventually you throw out the rule book and do what works for you,” he says. “When I teach competition surfers, I tell them: we want to be the ocean, just be as fluid as the water.”
And if I take my cue from the staff, they take theirs from Ed Templeton, Soul & Surf’s affable co-founder who, along with his ray-of-sunshine wife Sofie, curates the outlook here: stylish and cosmopolitan, yet wholly unpretentious. “When we launched, it was only going to be a six-month thing while we were working on other ideas. There are still no goals, no growth targets — just wanderlust,” he confesses. Tanned and instantly recognisable by his mop of golden curls, Ed sinks into a chair opposite me in Canteen one afternoon, happy to unpick the alchemy at work in the company they set up while on a grown-up gap year in 2010. The couple were in their late 30s, successful but looking for a life reboot — Ed, who owned a graphic design company in Brighton, had discovered surfing; Sofie, working in fashion, wanted to deepen her yoga practice.
“We’re a grown up surf camp, offering an equal footing of surf and soul — the yoga, massage and breathwork. We talk about it quite functionally — we’re not promising tranquillity or a new you — but I hope people are surprised by what they take away.” Around us, travellers and a smattering of locals down from the capital, Colombo, are ordering creative twists on local dishes like egg hoppers. Mellow music blends with the gentle hiss of waves hitting sand and breeze rustling palms. Soul & Surf strikes me as a much-needed antidote to the testosterone-fuelled surf hostels I’ve encountered elsewhere. In a sport where male surfers outnumber females four to one, according to figures from the International Surfing Association, it feels like a safe haven in which to learn.
As the week progresses, my surfing improves drastically — but this is perhaps the least surprising result of my time in southern Sri Lanka. Woven through the programme are opportunities to develop a positive relationship with the ocean. There are ‘ocean literacy’ classes with the instructors, covering topics as diverse as reef degradation to the ecological controversy around a new judging tower being built in Tahiti for the Paris Olympics, plus an exhilarating open-water swimming lesson with local celebrity Adam Moss, who swam the 18 miles between Sri Lanka and India in 2020. “Life begins at the edge of your comfort zone,” the stocky Brit says as we navigate a gentle rip current together. “You really get another perspective on the island once you’re past the break water. Pufferfish, turtles, rainbow fish — it’s spectacular.”
To ease my muscles, sore from surfing, I opt for a treatment with Argentinian Franco Rebagliati, founder of holistic bodywork company You Are The Sea, whose ocean-inspired massage technique sees my body kneaded, bent and draped to bliss on an al fresco massage table, his intuitive movements flowing with unseen meridians. “The fear of the ocean is the same fear of the self; the wilderness within. Nature can show us how to meet ourselves,” he says. I try another treatment of his invention, too, where his colleague equips me with a nose clip and cradles me in the shallows of Soul & Surf’s secluded cove, rhythmically dipping me under the waves to encourage total surrender. Relaxed and submerged, I open my eyes underwater and watch the sunbeams dance across the surface.
By the end of the retreat, any lingering distrust or apathy I harboured towards the ocean has dissipated. “The sea draws us to it, nourishes us,” Ed told me, explaining why he’d fallen in love with surfing in this part of the world. “For me, surfing became about living more simply. It changes how you judge success and contentment.” The oft-reported positive effects of time spent in the water are evident in me after a week: I feel lighter, calmer, stronger. And by the final morning, I’m charging at the ocean, board gripped under my arm, part of a pack of female surfers, all confident of our place in the community.
read more: https://www.nationalgeographic.com/travel/article/surfing-destination-sri-lanka-south-coast
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