Ordinary Sri Lankans took the opportunity to tour the ransacked presidential palace on Sunday, gaping in amazement at the colonial-era opulence, a day after protesters had stormed the building.

Some protesters claimed to have found 17.85 million Sri Lankan rupees inside the mansion. They have handed over the cash to the local police. A video was being shared on social media showing the protesters counting currency notes.

Among those taking a look was 61-year-old handkerchief seller B.M. Chandrawathi, who had sauntered into a first-floor bedroom accompanied by her daughter and grandchildren.

“I’ve never seen a place like this in my life,” Chandrawathi told Reuters as she tried out a plush sofa.

“They enjoyed super luxury while we suffered,” she said. “We were hoodwinked. I wanted my kids and grandkids to see the luxurious lifestyles they were enjoying.”

Nearby, a group of young men lounged on a four-poster bed and others jostled for turns on a treadmill with a view, set up in front of large windows overlooking manicured lawns.

After months of growing economic deprivation, the scenes offered rare moments of levity, with ordinary folk literally occupying the seats of executive power and taking a moment to appreciate the luxuries.

Some of the protesters held a mock cabinet meeting and “discussions with the IMF” — involving a curious foreigner who walked in — to ridicule the government.

Sprawled on an ornately carved wooden sofa, Wasantha Kumara said he had spent the night inside the President’s house, where a part of the main sweeping staircase has been damaged.

Nearby, a handwritten poster read: “Watch as much as you want. Don’t destroy or loot.” A smashed vase lay next to it.

On Saturday, many protesters had jumped into the swimming pool. By Sunday, its water had turned murky and no one was swimming.

Members of the security forces, some with assault rifles, stood outside the compound but did not stop people from going in.

‘Museum, library’

The presidential mansion had effectively become a free museum. People streamed in as army guards quietly patrolled the halls. They admired the fine art work, the chandeliers and the elaborately painted ceilings.

They sat around the grand dining table and peeked into kitchen cabinets and teak armoires. A man cooked rice in a large wok; some others cooked curries and snacks for the protesters.

Aside from some plastic bottle debris and a few paintings slightly askew, the space was tidy.

Back at the mansion, people rifled through the wardrobes for any clothing worth taking and examined the bathroom fixtures. Some showered in the bathrooms.

The damage seemed minimal; people appeared mainly interested in taking selfies showing themselves in surroundings where the President lived.

Nearby, inside the antechamber of the secretariat, a separate building that houses the President’s office, people milled around examining piles of used books and political pamphlets. A black banner hung on the doorframe announced that the space had been converted into a “people’s library”.

Izuru Rajakaruna, 33, a hotel manager who quit his job three weeks ago to join the protest, said: “These days there are no schools. So the children can come here and learn something.”

Insurance manager Mohammad Imran said his two children had been unable to attend school regularly, first because of the pandemic and then because the schools were closed to save on fuel.

On Sunday, he wanted his children to have some fun in celebration of Eid al-Adha. So, he borrowed some petrol for his motorcycle and drove Barerah, 11, and Thameem, 5, to the presidential residence.

As he took in the majestic grounds and the swimming pool, he said: “To see the kind of lifestyle he had, I feel it’s good for their education.”

Cricket, piano

In a corner of a darkened hall, audio engineer Sameera Karunaratne sat with two friends playing Sri Lankan pop songs on a large, polished piano.

“It’s a dream to come to a place like this,” the 26-year-old said. “We just came to see what’s going on.”

Some protesters watched cricket on wide-screen televisions, or news footage of their fellow protesters massed in Colombo.

Some found a gym where they watched a man do curls on a bench. Others rested on the grass of well-manicured gardens.

Kumara, a 33-year-old government employee, said he was keen to see Rajapaksa keep his promise to step down on Wednesday.

“If he doesn’t go, I will continue to come here and I will continue to sleep here until he does,” he said.

Hundreds walked around a makeshift protest camp erected outside the mansion.

Some people waved Sri Lankan flags, others held children’s hands. They greeted each other with smiles. The ebullient mood made it feel like a national holiday.

“What did we do when they didn’t give us fuel?” a man shouted through a bullhorn. “We walked to Colombo, didn’t we?”

“Yes!” the crowd responded.

“Did them cutting fuel stop us from coming to Colombo?”

“No!”