While Karl was eager to escape the bustling port of Colombo and pedal into Sri Lanka’s interior, I wanted to stay and wander. My starting point? The past. I spent my time exploring the city’s layered colonial history, searching for buildings and places that shaped Colombo 125 years ago when Karl arrived.
I began at the Colombo National Museum, a gleaming white building with high-arched windows and a long colonnaded façade. Founded in 1877, it feels like stepping into a history book wrapped in Italian elegance. Designed during the British colonial period, its symmetry, tall columns, and rounded arches make it both stately and serene, tucked behind a broad green lawn.
Inside, the museum tells the story of Sri Lanka’s past through its kingdoms, religions, and colonial chapters. From intricately carved Buddha statues to the dramatic royal throne built in 1693 for the last King of Kandy, each room immerses you in a different era. Upstairs galleries focus on Sri Lankan arts and crafts, while outside, under the banyan trees, there's a small natural history museum and café.
But it wasn’t just the artifacts that caught my attention; it was the building itself. The structure’s Renaissance-inspired design immediately transported me back to 1900, the essence of Colombo at that time.
Next, I made my way to Colombo’s Old Town Hall in the Pettah district. Built in 1873, it once served as the city’s first municipal headquarters and a courthouse. Today, it looks like it’s waiting for either restoration or retirement—shuttered, faded, and forgotten.
At first glance, it seemed abandoned. No tourists, no signs. But as I stood outside taking photos, a man emerged and beckoned me in. I couldn’t tell if he was a squatter, caretaker or unofficial historian, but the iron ring of keys on his belt suggested he had access to the building, official or otherwise, so I followed him inside.
He led me around the building, showing me some photos of its time as a functioning Town Hall. Then he beckoned me up creaky mahogany stairs and unlocked a heavy wooden door to reveal a dimly lit council chamber frozen in time. Inside, wax replicas of Colombo’s first councillors from 1906 sat mid-meeting, their expressions stern and slightly unsettling in the greenish light filtering through stained glass.
Before I left, he invited me to sign the visitor ledger and even pose for a photo among the wax figures, as if I had become the town’s newest council member, quietly appointed after 119 years.
From there, I went to the Grand Oriental Hotel, affectionately known as the GOH. Just steps from the still-busy harbour, this hotel began in 1837 as a Dutch hospital before transforming into one of Colombo’s most elegant colonial-era hotels. In its heyday, it welcomed steamship travellers, colonial dignitaries, and authors watching the empire expand from their balconies.
The concierge, gracious and accustomed to curious visitors, welcomed me in for lunch, then invited me to take the elevator up to view the harbour. From the top, you can still watch the comings and goings of ships, just as Karl would have. The port bustled with the same restless energy: masts, flags, containers, and cranes, all shifting with purpose.
Tucked just behind the hotel is St. Peter’s Church, one of Colombo’s oldest functioning places of worship. Built as a banquet hall for the Dutch Governor, it was later repurposed by the British into a chapel for the garrison. I slipped quietly inside, letting the sounds of Colombo, from both today and from 1900, hum just beyond the door.
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