Lunuganga grew slowly. First the rubber trees had to be cleared, then the land moulded; a hill was lowered to reveal ravishing views. Bawa had no plan, just a vision. Partly inspired by the gardens at Brief, Bevis’s nearby estate, Bawa attempted to out-do his landscape architect brother: exotic trees were planted, everything from cinnamon to tamarind; follies were built; water features carved with paddy fields abutted a lagoon. A series of outdoor rooms began to emerge: tiny bungalows filled with pieces collected during his travels that blended in perfectly with the planting.

In the early 1990s, Bawa suffered a series of strokes, leaving him paralysed and unable to speak. He died in 2003, leaving his dream to the Geoffrey Bawa Trust, which he had set up in 1982 with the aim of furthering the fields of architecture, fine arts and environmental studies. Headed by Channa Daswatte, his dear friend and last architectural partner, the trust began by offering a residency programme while working with conservationists to share the estate with the public, opening it as a guesthouse with six rooms in 2005. Last year, Teardrop Hotels, which has a portfolio of boutique establishments across the island nation, came on board to manage it.

I had been fascinated by Bawa’s work since once staying with my cousin down the coast in Dikwella, next door to Claughton House, which Bawa also designed. Deciding to head back to Sri Lanka to learn more, I spoke to Shayari de Silva, curator of art and archival collections at the Geoffrey Bawa Trust. 

Would Bawa have wanted his home used as a hotel? “Bawa stipulated that the garden could be used like a park,” she said. “During his lifetime, he was very private and didn’t like people visiting, except students. In Channa’s last conversation with Geoffrey before his second stroke, he said: ‘If you can’t look after it, then let it go back to jungle.’ But of course, it’s too important to allow that to happen. So, the hotel part is a way of making it work.”