Fish Markets in Negombo

I land in Sri Lanka on Sunday afternoon. Tired from the time difference and, above all, a little thrown by the fact that I took off in a wind-chill of -10 degrees Celsius and landed in a feels-like +45. At the airport I turn down some 7 taxi drivers and 5 tuk-tuk drivers and walk all the way out to the main road. There I haggle for a while with one tuk-tuk driver, but he offers to take me to the centre of Negombo for 1,000 rupees, which seems like quite a lot to me. At the airport I'd installed an app on my phone that lets you call a taxi or a tuk-tuk, and since I'd also bought a local SIM card (5GB of data for 1 month for 800 rupees), I fire up the app straight away and check how much the ride into town ought to cost. The app quotes me 250–350 rupees, so I turn down the driver's next offer to take me for 700 and order a tuk-tuk through the app instead. I ride off triumphantly for a final price of 300 rupees, happy that, for once, nobody "ripped me off" on the ride from the airport. That's happened to me so many times that this is truly an exceptional situation.

In Negombo I've booked a homestay for around 200 crowns (1,500 rupees); the room has no air conditioning, towels or toilet paper, but it's fairly clean, the lady who owns it is very kind, and for another 400 rupees she offers me dinner as well. So I have noodles with vegetables and go to bed early. That doesn't quite work out, though, because even with the fan on full blast the heat really is dreadful. Well, hopefully I'll get used to it soon. In the morning I'm glad I'd already planned to visit the local fish market at 6 a.m., because I'm only tossing and turning in bed anyway, not sleeping. I flag down a tuk-tuk in the street and off we go.

The driver drops me off at the fish market, which is already in full swing. It must get going around five in the morning here. The fishermen head out to fish through the night and return to this market before dawn, where they unload the night's catch and, if they're lucky, sell it right away. Besides the small fishermen who fish only overnight, there are also larger boats that spend up to a month at sea. These bring in big fish such as tuna, sharks, swordfish and manta rays. There's quite a bustle here, so I slowly get my bearings and figure out what's happening where. An older man comes up to me and immediately asks where I've come from, striking up a conversation. He's surely one of the locals who wait here for stray tourists. He tries to earn a bit of money by telling tourists all about the fish market, so I stick with him and he guides me around, pointing out various corners I'd have struggled to find on my own. On top of that, I now have a local at my side, so everyone around is friendly and has no problem with me taking photos.

The big tuna are certainly over a metre long, and once the obligatory bargaining is done and some buyer purchases them, they go straight into an ice box and back onto a boat that carries them off to a hotel, a shop, or even some foreign restaurant. Perhaps you're tucking into one of these very tuna somewhere right now. But it isn't only fish here; you'll also come across all sorts of crabs, spiny lobsters, squid and prawns. Put simply, you'll find just about everything the surrounding Indian Ocean is able to offer.

After spending about an hour here, I say goodbye to my guide and take a tuk-tuk a short way down to the sea. There, by a large beach, the big fish market is held. To describe it properly: the small one is more for locals and wholesale traders, whereas the big one draws more people from town, and tourists too. So everything here is laid out more neatly and clearly. You won't find such big fish here, though. The main reason I'm heading here is above all that this is where the drying of fish takes place. It's a traditional method in which the fish is first soaked for two days in brine. Then it's cleaned, gutted, "flattened out" and rinsed in seawater. The women then lay it out on mats spread across the whole beach, turning it regularly until the fish is sufficiently dried.

It's the oldest method of preserving meat, and prepared this way it can, under the right conditions, be stored for several years. At first I thought only fairly small fish were dried, but on the beach you'll often find fish that would rival a Christmas Eve carp for a family of five in size. As the fishermen clean and prepare the fish one by one, plenty of dogs, crows and little white egrets scurry about, waiting their turn to snatch up a morsel. And they certainly eat their fill here. Countless fish heads and severed fins lie strewn across the beach.

Around this market you'll also find a few little eateries, though you may need to work up a bit of courage to step inside. I dared to, and set off to get something for breakfast. My eye was caught by something that looked like the sweet bun we know from European shops. But you'd search the dough in vain for baked-in plum jam, poppy seeds or curd cheese. Instead you'll find a nicely spicy fish curry. But what else would you want to eat in a place like this? After a quick breakfast I lingered a while longer, taking in the sight of the drying fish and all the bustle around the beach, and then I had to hurry off to catch the bus to Colombo and then the train to the town of Anuradhapura.

Tip 1: Be at the small fish market before dawn. You'll see the fishermen unloading their catch and experience the whole place waking up and filling with lively bustle.

Tip 2: If you want to see the fish being dried on the beach by the big market, be sure to get there by eight at the latest. After that the tourists start arriving and the authenticity of the place is lost.

Part with 1,000 rupees and pay one of the locals, who'll show you even the tucked-away corners of the small market.

Gear: You probably won't need any special equipment here. A tripod with a video head came in handy for me, because I was also filming on the beach, and when using a long lens a tripod is a must. Rather than advise you on what gear to bring, I'd sooner advise you to come with respect, a smile and good cheer. Even though the locals are used to tourists, they're still here for their work, not to pose for photographers. So be considerate enough at least to ask them before you start taking photos. Just making eye contact and pointing at your camera is enough — you'll immediately know whether the person minds being photographed or not.