“There aren’t any theme parks there!” “What about Wi-Fi?”

Those were my twin sons’ reactions when I told them we’d be spending our family vacation in Sri Lanka, not at a Disney resort or beachside hotel. At 16 years old, Charlie and Thomas wanted pools and roller coasters, not UNESCO heritage sites or cooking with strangers.

But my wife, Cecilia, and I had different plans. I’d booked cultural experiences that would push them beyond their comfort zones, including a cooking class in the rural mountain town of Ella. They reacted as if they were being assigned homework for their holidays.

I didn’t know if they would warm to the experiences I had in store. But on our morning at Sigiriya, their complaints about climbing the ancient rock fortress at dawn had faded by the time we reached the summit and saw the sweeping views across the jungle.

On a visit to lush tea plantations, they lasted only five minutes picking tea before Thomas groaned, “How do they do this all day? My back’s killing me.” But instead of shrugging off this observation, he became genuinely curious about the workers’ lives.

By our second week, when they wanted souvenirs at local markets, I watched them negotiate prices themselves rather than let me do all the talking, behaving more like seasoned travellers than reluctant teenagers.

At Priya Cookery Class, the real challenge began. My kids’ culinary skills peaked at burning toast. Now, they were being asked to prepare dishes they would’ve refused to try at any restaurant back home.

On a shaded deck above Ella’s hillside streets, 12 of us gathered around gas burners to make eight traditional Sri Lankan dishes. The group, a diverse bunch, included tattooed backpackers, well-travelled retirees and blissful honeymooners. My twins were clearly the youngest.

“What’s fenugreek?” Charlie asked, poking at leaves unlike any he’d seen before.

Our instructor explained that we’d be preparing everything from chicken curry to beetroot sambal, with everyone helping on every dish. This communal approach meant my kids found themselves grinding spices alongside intrepid backpackers and rolling roti dough next to retired couples, chatting easily while ingredients sizzled.

Something clicked around the curry pot. The backpackers were fascinated by my teenagers’ perspectives, while Charlie and Thomas absorbed their wild stories of adventure in Southeast Asia.

“You guys are so lucky,” a Canadian backpacker told Charlie as they worked on curry together. “I wish my parents had taken me places like this when I was your age.” I could see Charlie perk up. This experienced traveller thought what he was doing was cool.

They were no longer the reluctant teens I’d dragged into “boring” activities. By the time we sat down to feast on chicken curry, lentil dahl, eggplant sambal, and the coconut roti they’d managed to roll themselves, my sons were deep in conversation with strangers from three continents. They were asking follow-up questions about cramped hostels and border crossings. They photographed every dish with obvious pride.

I’d wondered if this trip would work. Here was my answer.

Three weeks after we returned home, Charlie announced that he and his girlfriend were making Sri Lankan curry for family dinner. As we waited and waited, and Thomas teased his brother for taking forever (while claiming he could’ve cooked it in half the time), I was just proud that Charlie was trying.

As the hours dragged on and several roti attempts failed, I quietly dashed to a nearby store for backup supplies. We finally ate dinner at 9:30 p.m., but nobody complained.

Watching Charlie serve his imperfect but edible curry, I could tell the trip had changed something. Now, Thomas is researching backpacking routes through Europe. I know exactly where that idea came from.