Sri Lanka sits off the southern tip of the Indian subcontinent, an island marked by natural beauty and cavernous complexity. Its story is tangled with colonial exploits—first by the Portuguese, followed by the Dutch, and then the British, whose influence still permeates the island’s railways, legal systems, and architecture. After independence in 1948, Sri Lanka’s social fabric was torn by decades of uneasy relations and civil war between its principal ethnic groups, the Sinhala majority and the Tamil minority. These divides, which trace roots to British colonial policies of divide-and-rule and uneven economic opportunity, exploded into violence from 1983 until 2009. Recent years have seen the country wracked by political turbulence, most notably the 2022 financial crisis that brought the country to a standstill, forcing the resignation of the president. Yet today, Sri Lanka is forging ahead, its people—whether Singhalese or Tamil, Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim or Christian—dignified, warm, and keen to share their stories and their island.
This trip marks my sixth journey to the subcontinent—the first in a decade, and my first time venturing as far south as Sri Lanka. In years gone by, I longed to arrive by the fabled ferry from India, which always seemed out of commission. Now, flying in is routine, services are slick, and Sri Lanka is more accessible than ever. It’s a country that, at first glance, feels like a gentler, more manageable cousin to India: the same cultural mix, ancient ruins, and vibrant markets, but shrunk to an island about the size of Tasmania, with a population of only 22 million. The legacy of colonial empires is everywhere—from Dutch forts to British railway stations—yet Sri Lanka’s postcolonial identity is distinct and evolving as far away from the US as possible.
Negombo: Gateway to the Island
Something is comforting about arriving in Negombo after a midnight flight—close enough to the airport for a quick escape from midnight arrival horror, yet far enough to feel removed from Colombo’s urban struggle. Negombo’s reputation as a beach town is overrated, but the city itself is pleasant enough. We checked into a nowhere modernist hotel, tough walking distance from the centre, and quickly adjusted to the rhythm of Sri Lankan city life. In years past, getting around would have meant haggling endlessly with Tuk-tuk drivers over fares. Now, PickMe (Sri Lanka’s answer to Uber) removes nearly all the hassle—you tap a button and a three-wheeler promptly arrives. We use them all the time now, how good are TukTuks as a form of urban transport.
Anuradhapura: Ancient Cities and electric bikes
From Negombo, we caught the train north to Anuradhapura, taking advantage of one of Sri Lanka’s best legacies of British rule—the train network. Sri Lankan trains aren’t high-speed affairs, but their reliability and charm make the journey enjoyable, passing endless fields of rice and coconut, temples, and villages at a steady chug.
Arriving in Anuradhapura, the ancient capital of Sri Lanka, we rented electric bikes for the day. It’s almost impossible to explore the enormous archaeological complex on foot—the ruins are scattered over miles. Modern Anuradhapura is a sleepy provincial city, but its ancient incarnation was the beating heart of the Sinhalese Buddhist civilisation dating back to the 4th century BCE. Riding among the vast dagobas (stupas), ritual pools, and monasteries, their sheer scale strikes you—the Jetavanaramaya and Ruwanwelisaya stupas rise like brick mountains, and the ancient bodhi tree, said to be a cutting from the original under which the Buddha attained enlightenment, is surrounded by pilgrims and prayer flags.
The city itself is a UNESCO World Heritage site. It’s said that for over 1,000 years, Anuradhapura sat at the centre of Sinhalese power, Buddhist ritual, and international trade, before political decay and South Indian invasions brought its decline. Today, it’s a serene place—a textbook spot to reflect on the enduring faith and artistry of Sri Lanka’s people.
Sigiriya: rock fortresses and jungle safaris
From Anuradhapura, onward travel meant a private taxi to Sigiriya—a standard choice for many travellers. While the local bus is an option for the bold (and those with time), hiring a car for short hops between cities is perfectly reasonable, with costs lower than you might expect.
Sigiriya’s magnetism is immediate: the iconic rock fortress juts out of the flat plains, visible for kilometres in every direction. Most new arrivals warm up by climbing the adjacent Pidurangala Rock, a scramble through tropical forest crowned by boulders and offering breathtaking views of Sigiriya itself. The climb is challenging in the humid tropical heat, but the view includes forests and the imposing shape of Lion Rock, which makes it worth it.
Accommodation in Sigiriya tends towards the low-key and homely; we stayed in a welcoming family-run homestay where wild elephants ambled through the village at dusk, snatching bananas from alarmed neighbours. The main street has a chilled “hippie trail” vibe—laidback cafés and an atmosphere reminiscent of the routes first carved out by 1960s seekers. It’s a delight to think that independent travel here owes much to those generations who dared to wander.
A highlight was a day trip to Kaudulla National Park for a safari. Admittedly, there were three jeeps for every elephant, but seeing the huge grey animals lumbering through the wild trumpets any zoo experience. We also visited the Cave Temples of Dambulla, a vast complex of shrines carved out of rock, with extraordinary murals and hundreds of serene Buddha statues—a place central to Buddhist faith and legend, and now a world heritage site.
Kandy: Sacred relics
From Sigiriya, another cheerful car journey wound through cool forest and hills to Kandy, the island’s spiritual heart. The scenery is enchanting, but Sri Lankan roads have their own logic: the largest vehicle prevails, aided by the loudest horn, and patience is a virtue. By the time we reached Kandy, traffic had dissolved into gridlock.
We checked into the revered Queen Hotel, a colonial relic dating to the 19th century, right on Kandy Lake. It’s a place of faded grandeur: an elegant bar, a gently dilapidated swimming pool, and a whiff of history that lingers in the corridors. From the hotel window, you can see the Sri Dalada Maligawa—the Temple of the Sacred Tooth, one of the most revered sites in Sri Lankan Buddhism. Legend holds that the Buddha’s tooth, smuggled into Sri Lanka in ancient times, lies in a golden casket within the temple, drawing crowds of pilgrims and visitors. The shrine teems with worshippers; we joined the slow-moving line that winds past the casket, a dense thrum of devotion rising all around.
In the evening, we made our way to the Kandyan Cultural Centre to catch a Kandyan dance performance—a blast of colour, drumming, and acrobatics, rooted in ancient temple rituals and local folklore. Later, with beers and fish and chips back at the Queen Hotel, the rhythms of the city faded into the gentle hum of lake breezes and the promise of morning trains.
Next stop: Nuwara Eliya—by train, through tea country
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