OpinionIn this series, My Happy Place, our writers reflect on the holiday destinations in Australia and around the world that they cherish the most.May 28, 2026 — 5:00amWe started to think about living somewhere else soon after we gave birth to our son. By that stage, my wife and I had been based in the Middle East for more than six years. But it had reached a tipping point thanks to rising costs and snarling traffic. The novelty was wearing thin.We made the decision to uproot as soon as Michelle’s teaching contract expired. Following that, we’d hang out by a beach somewhere, learning to be parents. Then we’d move back home to Melbourne, where Finn could grow up around his grandparents and cousins.Mirissa Beach, a gorgeous sweep of sand without a single person on it.iStockBut where should we go – which beach? Somewhere tropical, obviously. Ideally somewhere cheap, since neither of us would be working. After considering our options – Mauritius, Zanzibar and Thailand were all mentioned – our attention turned to Sri Lanka.During an Easter break from school, we booked a week-long holiday in Unawatuna, a quiet beachside village that we’d stayed in years earlier. While we were there, we inspected rental properties without finding anything suitable. Unawatuna wasn’t as we remembered it, either. Buses and trucks roared past the beach with horns blaring, and the touts patrolling the beach were unbearably annoying.We decided to expand our search, hiring a tuk-tuk driver to take us on a coastal reconnaissance. Our first stop was at Mirissa Beach. A palm-filled headland bordered one end and a rocky islet the other. In between was a gorgeous sweep of sand without a single person on it. We’d found our place. The question was: could we find somewhere to live?Sign up for the Traveller Deals newsletterGet exclusive travel deals delivered straight to your inbox. Sign up now.At the time, only one hotel in town was opened for business. “Do you know of any rental properties in town?” I asked the receptionist.The author’s son, Finn, and wife Michelle on Mirissa beach.Mark Daffey“I have a place,” chirped a voice from behind. It belonged to a middle-aged man who was seated against the wall. “It’s up the road a little,” he added.Jayantha walked us to a double-storey house where he lived with his elderly mother, Amma. It was set among tropical gardens inside a two-metre-high fence. The property was called Mother’s House. It immediately felt right.We moved into the vacant top level later in the year, after we’d resigned from our jobs and packed up our belongings. Rent for our apartment was an affordable $100 a week. For that, we got five bedrooms with ensuite bathrooms, cold showers, basic furnishings and a claustrophobic kitchen. It was perfect.For the next six months, I was as content as I’ve ever been in my life. Our days revolved around sleeping patterns and feeding times as we accustomed ourselves to the responsibilities of parenthood. At any other time we’d hang out on the beach, where Finn would crawl at a million miles an hour towards the crashing shore breakers, daring us to stop him. When backpackers trickled down, he’d crawl over to investigate. With his shock of blond hair and caramel-coloured suntan, they’d be smitten every time.Finn with Tamil tea pickers in the Central Highlands.Mark DaffeyFriends and relatives often came to visit, encouraged by the promise of four empty bedrooms. At times, we’d join them on their travels to game parks and hilltop fortresses. Or we’d hunt for surf along the coast together.We’d prepare most meals in our own kitchen, buying fresh produce from the market and just-caught fish from the harbour. At least once a week we’d eat at a restaurant by the beach, feeling the sand between our toes. On one such occasion, Finn uttered his first word.“Cheers!” he said, clinking his banana milkshake against our beer glasses. It’s a moment I’m sure to recount at his 21st birthday party.All four of Finn’s grandparents flew over to help us celebrate his first birthday in Mirissa. Villagers we’d befriended during our time there joined us. Some were barely older than Finn. Everyone fussed over him.Jayantha and Amma were particularly pleased when family members visited and they’d invite us all downstairs for dinner. We’d sit around their dining table feasting on one dish after another, each as spicy as the one before. They were our favourite meals.I’ve returned to Mirissa several times since we lived there and each time it’s been busier. Travellers have flocked to the town for the same reasons we did. For the beach, the waves, and that elusively idyllic lifestyle.New hotels and restaurants have popped up – some fancy, most not. And Mirissa Harbour has become the global epicentre for boat tours to see blue whales, providing an economic uptick that has benefited everyone.Mother’s House is still there, 50 metres from the beach, though Mother has sadly passed on. Jayantha has added bungalows around the property that he rents out overnight, relying on walk-ins. Each time I return, I let him know I’m coming and he prepares our old room. That’s when I get sentimental. It’s when I wonder why we ever left.From our partners