I looked at my group, at the beers, and at the people running our tour. For them, this place is normal. For us, it’s a vacation. Seeing new places is often an escape from reality. Three weeks of vacation per year is more than in some Western countries, and many people don’t even take that much. For these locals, work never stops. They don’t travel elsewhere—people come to them. The Sri Lankans go out of their way to make our stay—14 Western, blonde, white girls—special. While that’s incredibly kind, it’s also a little sad. It’s not that we’re superior, just because we’re from another continent or have a different skin color. The framework of our lives is simply broader, bigger than theirs.

We paddled back to the mainland for dinner, where two women awaited us, drumming and making music. What a warm welcome! We laughed, danced a little, and shortly after were served homemade food. No cutlery—just hands. No fries table, but a curry buffet. Palm leaves as napkins, our hands as knives and forks. It took some getting used to, but thanks to the hospitality of these women, everyone happily joined in.

We switched from basic Western music to Sri Lankan hits. The daughter of the two women began dancing. We watched and slowly joined her. My Belgian friends played a classic Belgian dance song. Together with the daughter, the two women, and even this Dutch girl, we turned the small hut—their home—into a dance floor. The men from the tour organization watched in amazement. We speak different languages, come from different places, have different skin colors, yet we are all human and dance together. It reminded me of a friend’s tattoo that says: “Being girls together.” A perfect phrase for this authentic, unique experience.