Sri Lanka is, without a doubt, a paradise. From secluded beaches wrapped by coconut groves to misty, terraced tea plantations, or wild jungles where leopards prowl, to ancient sites that droop with history, Sri Lanka certainly “has it all.” In a recent blog post written by Big 7 Travel, a global travel organisation, our country was crowned as the most beautiful island in the world. Of course, I agree with that, and it is a well-deserved accolade; however, it made me wonder how long Sri Lanka will remain that way.
Tourism is our island’s lifeblood. According to the Department of Census and Statistics, the services industry, which includes tourism, employs nearly 48% of the workforce, the largest sector in the country. Sri Lanka continues to welcome the world, and the tourism sector continues to expand. Development in tourism is not bad, but the speed and scale of this development may not be sustainable. It’s almost as if we’re in a toxic relationship with tourism—people visit Sri Lanka for the beaches, wildlife, culture and food, but these very things are at jeopardy with over-tourism and unregulated development. So how do we break free from this toxic cycle?
The More Things Seem to Change…
It’s become a running joke that you now see more people than animals when you go on safari in Yala National Park. My mother talks about visiting the park when she was young and its wild beauty, and that it’s almost a shell of its former self. I thought she was just reminiscing about “the good old days.” After all, Yala was just as wild, beautiful and mysterious. Or so I thought, but now I understand.
In 2016, my friends and I stayed in one of the park bungalows for a few days, and it was magical. There were times when we were the only people at sightings, and throughout that whole trip, we only saw a handful of other jeeps. Now, less than a decade later, it’s the complete opposite. Before you even enter the park, a long line of trucks winds itself for miles like an unnatural, metallic snake–foreshadowing what is to come… Once you enter, you’re off to the races. Jeep drivers barrel forward, on a mission to find you a “good sighting” of a leopard. However, a good sighting only lasts for a few minutes, because before you know it, ten other jeeps arrive and suddenly you’re watching the leopard through someone else’s camera lens.
A Balancing Act
It’s not just our wildlife parks that are impacted by over-tourism. Garbage is strewn all along our celebrated coastline, while our once vibrant reefs grow pallid with every passing decade. Or, we see pieces of our culture and history being stripped down to become just another Instagram photo-op. Sri Lanka needs to find a balance between development and conservation; otherwise, we may see the (not so) gradual erasure of ecosystems, culture and identity.
Since the COVID-19 pandemic, there has been a surge of interest in Sri Lanka, which is wonderful. Certain tourist hotspots like Ahangama and Weligama have suffered the brunt of over-tourism. These sleepy fishing villages, which have transformed into bustling beach towns, can be taken as cautionary tales. Arugam Bay has always felt like a hidden gem, untouched by overdevelopment. However, during a recent trip to A’Bay, I was surprised to see how many new spots had opened since last year. What was even more shocking, though, was seeing how empty they all were.
The growing demand to cater to tourists, both foreign and local, shouldn’t mean we focus solely on opening more hotels, restaurants and bars. We don’t need another place to get a pretty avocado toast or an acai bowl. Instead, we need experiences that showcase our local arts and crafts, that engage the whole Sri Lankan community, not just areas around tourist zones. We need experiences that show value in protecting our natural resources and nurture the younger generation to create more sustainable tourism practices. Already, there are glimmers of hope in the form of beach clean-ups and mangrove reforestation, but more needs to be done.
Is There a Foreign Threat?
Overdevelopment and over-tourism not only change the landscape but also the local community. We’ve seen all the headlines about tourists who come on one-month-long tourist visas who end up buying land and opening businesses. Real estate prices in these high tourist zones have skyrocketed, and quite often (although not always), foreigners play a key role in this land grab. As a result, the local community is pushed further away from a place they once called home.
Although technically, foreigners are not allowed to own land in Sri Lanka, they have local “partners” who they had a lump sum of cash to and then carry on their business as the sole proprietor. This isn’t always the case, but it definitely happens more often than we’d like to admit. There are some benefits, however, to this foreign development. They bring new ideas, new concepts, and new experiences, some of which Sri Lankans may have never seen before. This can be a learning experience and uplift the local community, and over time they can open their own businesses. But how much can they learn if they’re not being included or benefiting from this development?
So, Now What?
Paradise is not lost yet. There are still corners of Sri Lanka that remain untouched, but preserving these treasures requires responsibility–not just from policymakers and the tourism industry, but from us as travellers too. As locals, we can start small. Carry reusable bottles and bags to cut down on plastic waste. Choose locally owned business over foreign-owned resorts so money circulates within our communities. Travel during off-peak times to ease pressure on overcrowded destinations and to other destinations that may not get as many tourists. Be mindful of how we interact with wildlife and avoid activities that exploit them. Even simple actions over time can make a big impact.
Right now, we’re on the cusp of mismanagement tipping into full-blown overtourism. The government has an urgent role to play: regulating the number of tourists allowed into sacred sites and wildlife parks each day, ensuring safari jeeps are filled with 6–8 people rather than carrying just one or two, and properly training guides so that they are educators and custodians of our heritage. Facilities must be improved, tickets should be available for pre-purchase to ease congestion, and strict speed limits must be enforced in national parks to protect wildlife. At cultural landmarks, a dynamic pricing system could help distribute visitors more evenly–for instance, charging a lower fee for midday climbs at Sigiriya, when the heat deters most, and higher rates for sunrise or sunset. These measures may seem small, but together they can drastically reduce pressure on our most vulnerable sites.
But beyond these personal choices, Sri Lanka as a nation needs to look inward and ask: what kind of tourism do we truly want? We cannot keep bending over backwards for the type of tourist who haggles for a few hundred rupees, disrespects our culture, or treats our island as nothing more than a cheap party stop. We don’t need more tourists who are interested in partying; we need tourists who care about preserving and creating memories slowly. We must respect ourselves first–by valuing our heritage, protecting our environment, and setting standards that attract travellers who come here to learn, to connect, and to appreciate the richness of Sri Lanka for what it is.
Tourism will always be part of Sri Lanka, but it must not come at the cost of our identity.
