I must admit, to put it mildly, I hate the freezing-cold Norwegian winter. Not only cold, but with lots of snow. You cannot even go out to your trash boxes without putting on snow boots and winter clothing. I was longing for light and warmth. I’ve found my winter paradise, south of winter – Sri Lanka.
After Christmas, winter in Norway stops feeling seasonal and starts feeling structural. The light thins to a rumor. Cold settles not just into streets and buildings, but into habits, conversations, and the body itself. Life continues—efficiently, responsibly—but at a reduced sensory volume. You dress for survival, move with purpose, and wait. For spring. For relief. For something to shift.
This is not a complaint. Winter here is part of the social contract. You endure it quietly, with wool, discipline, and the unspoken belief that resilience is a virtue. But this particular winter, endurance felt less like strength and more like inertia. I noticed how often I was tired without reason, how creativity slowed, how even pleasure became procedural. The problem was not the cold alone; it was the prolonged absence of contrast.
Why Sri Lanka?
Sri Lanka entered my thinking almost accidentally. Not as a checklist destination, but as an idea shaped by climate, geography, and scale. An island close to the equator, defined by light, movement, and variety. Beaches and tea hills, dense cities and quiet villages, monsoon air and sudden sun. It felt less like choosing a place and more like choosing the opposite. Not staying there permanently—just long enough to remember how it feels to be warm without effort.
People ask why Sri Lanka, specifically. Why not somewhere closer? Why not southern Europe, the Canary Islands, North Africa, or a short escape within reach? The answer is partly climatic—few places offer such a decisive break from Nordic winter—but it is also psychological. I did not want a softened version of the same season. I wanted immersion. Heat that reorders the body. Light that resets the clock.
In Norway, winter teaches restraint. In Sri Lanka, everything I imagined suggested expansion. Color replaces monochrome. Noise replaces silence. Life happens outdoors, in motion, in proximity. Markets spill into the streets. The body stops bracing and begins to respond. Trains move slowly enough to observe landscapes passing rather than disappearing.
The people in Sri Lanka are pleasant, polite, and helpful. I feel relaxed and well cared for.
My winter paradise
Talking about trains, a truly iconic Sri Lankan train journey is riding the coastal line through Bentota. Or even better, like me, making Bentota my winter paradise. Bentota is a popular resort town on Sri Lanka’s southwest coast, renowned for its beaches and the Bentota River.
A three-week stay in Bentota is offered by the travel agency Explore Sri Lanka. In Bentota, you can relax at your four-star hotel at the beach with all facilities, and enjoy excursions to nearby towns or attractions at your own pace if you feel restless. In my next report from Sri Lanka, I will recommend places you might visit.
However, unsurprisingly, one of Bentota’s main attractions is the beach, with its smooth, white sand, palm-fringed shores, and sweeping sunset views. Though not every day, the waves of the ocean are suitable for surfers.
Winter (January-March) temperatures here are around 30°, with a gentle breeze, and sea temperatures around 28°C. The pleasant, mild evenings are one of the reasons Bentota is my favorite destination. I experienced a brief tropical downpour that lasted about 10 minutes, but a nearby bar offered a pleasant shelter.
One advantage of Bentota as a beach holiday destination is its calm waters and the wide river mouth at the back of the Bentota peninsula. This stretch between Bentota and Aluthgama is perfect for relaxed water sports, such as banana boat rides. The Bentota Bridge is the boundary of the western and southern provinces. Bentota lies only 65 km from the capital, Colombo.
Bentota is also a center of Ayurvedic treatments, a superb way to unwind on holiday. The Bentota Ayurveda Center is nestled right across the railway tracks behind the sea and the resorts. There you’ll also find some of the best traditional restaurants in the area, just a short walk from the resorts.
The restaurants along the railway track offer delicious food at reasonable prices. The service is excellent. Beer or sparkling water is my preferred drink, as imported wine is relatively expensive. By the Bentota River, there are other options: fine dining restaurants in romantic surroundings. It’s a rare possibility to enjoy a meal outside in the midst of palm trees. It’s a body-and-brain relaxation unlike anything else.
To me, Bentota was love at first sight. The scenery, the people, and the warmth. Not just physical warmth, but sensory abundance. Humidity carries smells and sound. Food is layered, fragrant, unapologetic. The ocean is not scenery; it is a presence. After weeks of cold-induced inwardness, the external world becomes demanding again—and that demand feels like relief.
The people in Sri Lanka are pleasant, polite, and helpful. I feel relaxed and well cared for.
Still, whenever I describe this desire to escape winter, doubts inevitably follow.
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Related: Colombo – An Underrated Capital Destination
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It’s such a long flight
Yes, it is. And distance matters. But there is a difference between inconvenience and deterrence. A long flight becomes a threshold—a clear transition between lives. And after a short stop in Doha, you do not drift into Sri Lanka; you arrive deliberately. That distance creates mental separation, which is precisely the point. For me, the length of the journey was not a flaw but a feature: a signal that this was not a weekend distraction, but a reset.
Isn’t it hard being so far from home?
Only if home is defined purely by proximity. Modern travel collapses distance in practical terms. Communication is constant. Familiar routines can be recreated selectively. And being far from home sharpens perspective. You notice which habits you miss and which you do not. Distance clarifies attachment rather than weakening it.
What about health concerns?
This question often carries unspoken anxiety about unfamiliar systems and climates. But health risks exist everywhere; they simply take different forms. Sri Lanka has established medical infrastructure, especially in urban areas, and common travel precautions—insurance, vaccinations, awareness—address most concerns. More importantly, mental health is part of health. Prolonged darkness and cold take a toll that is rarely acknowledged because it is normalized. Choosing sun and movement can be preventative care, not indulgence.
Isn’t it irresponsible to escape rather than endure?
This is perhaps the most Nordic question of all. Endurance is valued here, sometimes at the expense of well-being. But escape is not abandonment. It is paused. Recalibration. The ability to step outside a system in order to return to it with perspective. Leaving winter behind for a time does not negate resilience; it preserves it.
In Sri Lanka, what I anticipated most was not rest, but responsiveness. The way days are shaped is less by clocks and more by heat, rain, and light. The way people adapt continuously rather than fortifying against the environment. Climate shapes culture, and culture shapes emotional availability. Smiles come easier when faces are not hidden behind scarves. Conversations happen in shared space rather than scheduled slots.
This is not romanticism. Sri Lanka has its own complexities, challenges, and contradictions. But none of them resembles winter paralysis. The island demands engagement. You sweat. You adjust. You participate. Even discomfort feels active rather than numbing.
Escape, in this sense, is not about avoiding difficulty. It is about choosing a different kind of effort. Cold asks you to contract; heat asks you to adapt. One rewards discipline. The other rewards presence. After weeks of contraction, the presence felt urgent.
I never imagined this journey as permanent. The value lies in contrast. Norway in winter teaches patience, structure, and restraint. Sri Lanka offers looseness, immediacy, and sensory renewal. One sharpens the other’s appreciation. Leaving makes returning meaningful.
If you want to escape the winter, Explore Sri Lanka is the only travel agency in Norway specializing solely in Sri Lanka. Check it out here.
When I picture the end of this escape, I do not imagine reluctance. I imagine carrying heat home—not literally, but rhythmically. A memory of light strong enough to endure darkness without being consumed by it. A reminder that endurance is a choice, not an obligation.
Winter will still be there. But I will meet it differently. Not depleted, but replenished. Not waiting, but prepared. And that, more than warmth, is why I needed to go south.
Escaping Winter – Why Sri Lanka Became My Refuge, written by Tor Kjolberg.
All images © Tor Kjolberg, Daily Scandinavian (if not otherwise stated).
Feature image (top) © Echo Hotel, Bentota.