During the war, tea exports held steady, and to this day the industry remains a critical part of the economy, directly employing 1 million Sri Lankans (25,000 work for Dilmah alone). “From a GDP perspective, though, tea isn’t as important as it used to be,” Fernando says. Tea has accounted for 2 percent of the country’s gross domestic product for years; as of 2017, tourism claims 5 percent. In other words, tea allowed the country to survive, but tourism is helping it thrive.
Halfway up the road to Tientsin Bungalow, a squad of grinning young townsmen bursts from around a bend in the road, some dressed in plaid button-downs and some in sarongs, singing in Sinhalese and hoisting a float covered in a rainbow of flowers, tinsel, and embroidery. Inside is a gilded figurine of Surya, the Hindu sun god. Behind the men, an entire Tamil community spills out, singing and dancing for the Pongal harvest festival. We wait for them to pass. “You can’t rush things here,” Fernando tells us. “You just have to slow down and enjoy the ride.”
Fernando has just brought his hotel company’s head count to 450 with his latest endeavor, Wild Coast Tented Lodge, on Sri Lanka’s southeastern tip. It opened in November with 28 spaceshiplike suites on stilts, set between Yala National Park, a haven for endangered leopards, and towering sand dunes that frame the Indian Ocean. After Tea Trails and a beach resort near Galle, Wild Coast is Resplendent Ceylon’s third property; taken together, the circuit gets a jingle-ready tag line: “Tea, sea, and safari.”
Although its resorts share the same attention to detail as the best properties in the world, what distinguishes Resplendent Ceylon from, say, the Aman resorts on Sri Lanka’s beaches is a commitment to giving back: Fernando’s operation is set up to funnel profits to MJF Charitable Foundation and Dilmah Conservation, his family’s nonprofits. Together, they support more than 120 conservation and community projects across the island. MJF itself is the largest private foundation in Sri Lanka. It contributes to entrepreneur mentorships, sustainable agriculture programs, and a culinary school for disadvantaged youth—initiatives that earned Fernando’s father the prestigious Business for Peace Award, an annual prize granted by previous Nobel laureates. By 2020, MJF estimates it will have had an impact on 200,000 lives across the country.
Much of that is thanks to Fernando himself, who acts as a trustee at MJF and imbues his hotels with its ethos. Near Tea Trails, MJF operates a children’s day care and a wellness clinic; its nature-focused counterpart, Dilmah Conservation, is creating a wildlife research station at Wild Coast where Sri Lankan scientists can compare findings and produce policy papers to inform future legislation.
Guests may not even realize that 10 percent of Resplendent Ceylon’s profits go back into Fernando’s initiatives. But that philanthropy is one thing that appeals to Philippe Gombert, president of Relais & Châteaux, the independent hotel group to which Fernando’s resorts belong. “A commitment to the local community is one of the stronger pillars of the Relais & Châteaux brand,” he says. Fernando’s engagement, he adds, is among the best he’s seen.
The next day we hop on a seaplane for a half-hour’s flight down to the safari-style Wild Coast Lodge and watch the rippling landscape flatten along the way. Upon arrival, we’re ushered into a dramatic, arching pavilion made from thatched bamboo that opens to the crashing waves of the Indian Ocean. Our villa is a futuristic bubble, stitched in undulating waves from PVC-coated polyester and featuring oversize portholes that overlook the jungle. Outside, there’s a private plunge pool. That night we dine on Sri Lankan shrimp curry, stewed okra, and lentil dal at a moonlit table in the sand.
On 2,000 acres between the property and nearby Yala, Fernando wants to establish his most ambitious initiative: a private wilderness reserve, like those dotting Africa. It’s set to open next year and would help reduce congestion in the national park—which can see “jungle jams” of 50 Jeeps swiveling madly toward a single animal—while giving wildlife more protected room to roam.
Yala may be one of the world’s best places to see leopards, but because of overcrowding, the staff at Wild Coast varies the expeditions. Along with a chef we go to a market in the tiny town of Kirinda on a muddy dock where fishermen unload king mackerel, marlin, and enormous jackfish from colorful boats. Locals—mostly men, with a smattering of women and children—shout prices at the vendors before swapping cash and loading up motorbikes. We choose a moderate-size halibut for lunch and throw it onto an ancient scale. It costs about $2, and the chef serves it steamed in a banana leaf with a dizzying array of local salads a few hours later.
When we finally head to Yala, it’s with Chandika Jayaratne, an environmental lawyer who switched careers when luxury tourism made guiding a sufficiently lucrative career path. Job creation is one of the biggest benefits of tourism growth in Sri Lanka, says Tiffany Misrahi, who focuses on travel and tourism at the World Economic Forum. According to her research, it takes only 30 first-time visitors to the country to create one job for a local. This can slow the trend of young adults leaving their hometown for Colombo or Dubai.