Roughly 10 hours north of Colombo, Sri Lanka’s capital, you’ll find lesser-known and lesser-visited Jaffna. Writer Sarah Kingdom visits the predominantly Hindu city and finds a town that’s shaking off its colonial, civil war history and embracing its cultural identity.
It’s 4.30 in the afternoon and a cacophonous puja (worship ritual) to Lord Murugan, the Hindu god of love, war and beauty, is just getting underway inside Jaffna’s Nallur Kandaswamy Kovil temple.
Golden gopurams (temple towers) glisten in the sun as we join the barefoot worshippers streaming through the arched gates, bearing garlands and other offerings. The scent of jasmine and incense fills the air. Bells chime and drums beat as worshippers—both shirtless men and conservatively dressed women—travel clockwise around the holy bathing well that’s used to wash the temple’s numerous sacred statues.
The devotees continue past the main shrine, housing the divine spear believed to have belonged to Murugan, before reaching the elaborate dedications to the gods Ganesha, Valli, Theivayaanai, and Shiva that surround the inner sanctum. Pausing here, the devout make offerings to the brass-framed images of Murugan and other deities.
Finishing their rotation, they end back at the main shrine. Here they prostrate themselves, foreheads touching the ground, paying their final respects, before applying holy ash, powdered sandalwood and red kumkum powder (often made with turmeric) to their foreheads and departing the temple.
As we leave the temple, my guide, Sriganeshan Ninthujan, tells me about the Nallur Festival that takes place here every year in August or September, depending on the Tamil calendar. “It spans almost a month,” he says, “with more than 200,000 pilgrims coming from all over Sri Lanka and even from abroad.”
Ninthujan describes how, during the festival, the city vibrates with life, full of color, ceremonies, and processions. “The streets are all decorated with mango leaves, coconut fronds and flowers,” he says. “And the temple’s deities are taken around the streets on sacred vahanas (chariots), that are built to look like silver peacocks, bulls, horses, cobras, dogs and swans.”
He also talks about some of the pilgrims’ more extreme acts of devotion—smashing coconuts, often on their own or other people’s heads; piercing their bodies with hooks and spears, apparently without feeling any pain—all demonstrations of faith and offerings of atonement, according to Ninthujan.
Closer to southern India than it is to Colombo, Jaffna is located on the northern tip of Sri Lanka, a world away, culturally, geographically and emotionally, from the rest of the country, particularly the tourist-thronged beaches of the south.
It’s believed that these stupas hold the remains of 60 to 80 enlightened Arhat (monks). In such a predominantly Hindu city, this small patch of Buddhism is a quiet and little visited place.
Once the heartland of the country’s brutal civil war, Jaffna was, for decades, a no-go zone. But in 2009, after 25 years, nine months, three weeks and four days, the conflict between the government and the separatist Tamil Tigers (LTTE), who were fighting for an independent Tamil state, finally ended. Since then, Jaffna has been quietly re-emerging, and those who make the effort to venture this far north will find a place colored both by ancient tradition and recent struggles.
“Ayubowan”, which translates to ‘may you have the gift of long life’, is the greeting you’ll hear as you touch down in Sri Lanka. But in Jaffna, the language shifts. Here in the Tamil-dominated north, it’s “vanakkam”, which is more than simply hello; it’s a mark of pride, respect, resilience and welcome.
Getting to Jaffna is easy, though it takes time. From Colombo, Sri Lanka’s capital, there are no direct flights, so it’s either a 12-hour train ride or an eight-hour drive. We opted for a road trip, but not a self-drive. Instead, we hire a car and driver and take the scenic route, stopping to spend a few days with the leopards and sloth bears of Wilpattu National Park en route.
Known in Tamil as Yalpanam, Jaffna is a compact, lively town. Its wide and sun-baked streets are lined with a patchwork of faded colonial-era buildings from days of British, Portuguese and Dutch rule, functional modern shopfronts, overflowing market stalls, colorful Hindu temples, and serene white and pastel-coloured churches.
Cars, bicycles and tuk tuks zip past roadside fruit stalls, old bookshops, and markets selling palmyrah (palm sugar) candy. Low-rise buildings dominate the skyline, while weathered Dutch-style façades hint at the city’s past. Compared to Sri Lanka’s bigger, more frenetic cities, like Colombo and Kandy, Jaffna is understated. There’s a sense of calm and space here, with its strong Tamil culture prominently on display.
Settled by Tamil migrants from southern India, Jaffna has retained a unique character and culture, one which owes more to Hindu India than Buddhist Sri Lanka. Around 78 percent of Jaffna’s inhabitants are Hindu, while in the rest of the country, more than 70 percent of people identify as Buddhist.
Here in Jaffna, Buddhist temples and sites are few and far between. Kadurugoda Viharaya temple, believed to be part of an ancient monastery that the Buddha visited during his travels through Sri Lanka, is one of the few remaining Buddhist temples left in the city. Built sometime between 307 BC and 267 BC, today, only about 20 of the original 60 gray stone stupas remain, sprawled across a patch of open land, in a grove of palmyrah trees. It’s believed that these stupas hold the remains of 60 to 80 enlightened Arhat (monks). In such a predominantly Hindu city, this small patch of Buddhism is a quiet and little-visited place.
Sri Lanka’s layered history is particularly visible in Jaffna, where Portuguese, Dutch and British colonizers all left their mark. Overlooking Jaffna lagoon, a vast, shallow body of water that separates the Jaffna peninsula from the rest of the island, the pentagonal Jaffna Fort has been fought over for centuries.
Originally built by the Portuguese, captured and expanded by the Dutch, and later surrendered to the British—without a shot being fired—today the site is largely in ruins although it still commands sweeping views across the lagoon.
We walk the perimeter as sunset approaches, and largely have the place to ourselves, save for a few grazing goats and a couple of promenading young couples. From the fort’s ramparts, we look out over the lagoon’s network of mangroves, mudflats, and scrubland, studded with fishermen’s huts perched on stilts. The water glistens, a palette of pink, gold and silvery blue as the sun sinks lower in the sky, broken only by the silhouettes of fishermen casting their nets from dugout lagoons.
We introduce each ingredient slowly, so each has its moment to bloom—the hiss of mustard seeds in hot oil, the scent of the fresh curry leaves hitting the pot, the change in the curry’s color as the spices infuse. By the time we taste the finished dish, I have a new respect, not only for ingredients, but for a place that cooks with its whole heart.
“Yes, this place has been Portuguese, Dutch and British, but it’s also always been Jaffna,” our guide, Ninthujan, says contemplatively. “Every change brought us something new: A way of building, a way of cooking, a way of thinking about the sea. Even though it’s in ruins, this fort reminds us that we’ve never stopped learning and adapting, we take whatever comes and make it into our own.”
The next morning, we pass the Jaffna Public Library. Inaugurated in 1841, it was an important Tamil cultural and historic institution. Once home to a collection of more than 90,000 irreplaceable historical Tamil documents, including: 700 works by philosopher, artist and author Ananda Coomaraswamy; the only existing copy of the Yalpanam Vaipavama (an early history of Jaffna, written in 1736, and published in 1879); and the memoirs and writings of local physicians, politicians, writers, and dramatists.
Most of these works were incinerated in a fire started by pro-government mobs in 1981, in an attempt to destroy Tamil cultural heritage, in the build-up to civil war. The library was one of the first major buildings rebuilt after the ceasefire, and today, though the charred stones and shelves are gone, the library’s crisp white façade hides a history of loss.
Jaffna’s cuisine is bold and spicy, closer to the dishes of south India than elsewhere in the country. There’s the Jaffna crab curry, packed with spices and tamarind, and kool, a traditional seafood broth, thickened with palmyra root flour and loaded with crab, shrimp, squid and moringa seed pods.
At the Thinnai Hotel, I join Ramachandran Surendar, known by all as Chef Suren, in the kitchen for a crash course in Jaffna cooking. “We use everything here, every part of the plant, every part of the fish,” he tells me, as we assemble a bubbling pot of traditional crab curry.
As we work side by side, I see what he means. Tamarind pods are cracked open for their sour pulp, curry leaves are plucked fresh from the stem. I learn how to roast each of the spices until they become aromatic, how to coax sweetness from onions by patient frying, and how the addition of coconut milk tempers a curry’s heat, without dulling its vibrancy. We introduce each ingredient slowly, so each has its moment to bloom—the hiss of mustard seeds in hot oil, the scent of the fresh curry leaves hitting the pot, the change in the curry’s color as the spices infuse. By the time we taste the finished dish, I have a new respect, not only for ingredients, but for a place that cooks with its whole heart.
Jaffna isn’t just about the city; much of its magic lies in the surrounding islands and coastal villages., like Delft Island, accessible by ferry. Don’t expect a schedule though; just show up at the pier and ask around. This windswept island is home to wild ponies, baobab trees and coral walls, with a crumbling Dutch fort, the ruins of an old hospital, and a haunting quiet.
Then there’s Keerimalai Springs, just north of Jaffna, sacred Hindu bathing pools which are said to have healing properties. Next door is the Naguleswaram Temple, one of the oldest in the country, and if legend is to be believed, built in 785 by a princess in gratitude for being cured of her disfigured, horse-shaped head.
Point Pedro, the northernmost tip of Sri Lanka, is a 45-minute drive from Jaffna and a geographical milestone that’s as symbolic as it is scenic. This is the country’s final edge. A trading post during pre-colonial and colonial times, remnants of old buildings, pockmarked with bullet holes, provide a glimpse of the town’s past. Primarily a fishing village now, with gentle waves and clear blue water, on a clear day you can see the Indian coastline 40 miles (65 kilometers) away.
Jaffna is still healing, economically, socially, and emotionally. While scars of the war are not always visible, they’re never far below the surface. Traveling here requires sensitivity, for many locals, tourism is still new, or at least returning after decades of absence.
What Jaffna offers is a chance to see not just stunning temples, bustling markets and architectural ruins, but the strength of a community that has survived, and is now inviting the world back in.
The writer was a guest of A&S Signature Journeys, and the trip was planned by Sri Lankan born travel agent Sheri Fazleabas.
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Travel writer, mountain guide, yoga teacher, trail runner and mother, Sarah Kingdom was born and brought up in Sydney, Australia. Traveling around Africa at 21, she fell in love with the continent and stayed. Sarah guides on Kilimanjaro several times a year, and has lost count of how many times she has stood on 'the roof of Africa'. She has climbed and guided on mountains around the world and now spends most of her time visiting remote places in Africa. When she is not traveling, she runs a cattle ranch in Zambia with her husband.
