This is a perfect, tropical morning. With the sun just rising, palm trees cast long shadows on the beach, their fronds etched in sharp silhouettes. Close inshore, fishing dhows dot the languid, blue sea. Hundreds of terns – elegant, white seabirds – dip amongst them, searching for small fish.

Today, this place seems wonderfully peaceful. Yet just months ago, the sea rose, swept in across the sand and into a resort’s restaurant, sending diners and waiters rushing to safety. Here, on the west coast of Sri Lanka, the tsunami was startling, but caused little damage. Elsewhere, though, resorts and coastal communities were wrecked, tens of thousands of people died. And yet, my wife and I have come to Sri Lanka on holiday.

We’ve come after reading and hearing of the need for tourists to visit Sri Lanka, and so help the many people whose livelihoods depend on tourism – and after learning that Sri Lanka offers marvellous attractions, with no need for us to stay in damaged places.

We’re beginning a journey through this teardrop shaped island, which was once called Serendib – giving rise to the term serendipity, for unexpected, fortunate discoveries. Later, to the British, it became Ceylon, an exotic country in the east, with elephants, gems, temples, tropical trees and flowers, and tea plantations in the hills. This is the land we are about to explore, on an adventure blending Sri Lanka’s wildlife, scenery, and rich cultural heritage.

To Sri Lanka's Cultural Triangle

From the resort, our guide and driver Wicky Wickremesekera takes us northeast, towards the region known as the Cultural Triangle. We cross a small river, and he announces, “We’re entering the dry zone.” This is a reminder that, though just 350 km long and 180 km wide, Sri Lanka is a diverse island; the two seasonal monsoons coupled with extensive plains and central hills result in strikingly different landscapes, and an array of habitats for plants and animals.

We pass villages and farmhouses amidst groves of trees, lush green after unusually heavy rains, and arrive at the Teak Forest Lodge. Here, former hotelier Kamal Hettiarachchi has built wooden cabins in the shade of teak trees. Hettiarachchi chats as he serves a spicy lunch in his open-air restaurant; a flock of birds moves through the trees, with a brilliant yellow oriole amongst the leaves, a black-and-red woodpecker climbing tree trunks.

Relaxing here is pleasant. But we came to this region mainly for the historical sites, especially the one that’s been called the Eighth Wonder of the World – the great rock fortress of Sigiriya.

Sigiriya

Wickremesekera reckons it best to climb Sigiriya towards late afternoon, and we at last set off, driving a dusty lane, and turning to a narrow road beside one of two moats that almost encircle Sigiriya, and enclosed a complex including gardens and settlements, centred on the rock itself.

Langurs – slender, grey monkeys with black faces – lounge on a slab of rock and in trees. Crossing the inner moat, we follow a path through water gardens, where a maze of hidden pipes still transports small streams that bubble into rock channels and pools.

The rock looms ahead. Imposing, rounded on top but with almost sheer sides, it’s like Australia’s Uluru (Ayer’s Rock), but set amidst gardens and woodland. We climb steep flights of steps, pause at an overhang with frescoes of topless maidens, and arrive at a level platform that’s been cut from the rock.

There are more steps leading up from here, between two huge paws, which are all that remain of a giant lion statue that sat high on the rock. It must have been an awesome sight – and intimidating for visitors, for the steps once led up through the lion’s mouth. Heading past the paws, I climb narrow metal steps that cling to the steep, smooth rock face, to the top of Sigiriya, some 180 metres above the surrounding plain.

Sigiriya was built by King Kassapa, who seized the throne from his father, whom he imprisoned and later killed, and ruled Sri Lanka from 477-495 AD. He chose the rock as it could make a fortress against potential assault by his brother, who had fled to India. There was a palace on the rock, but the buildings have gone, and I find only their foundations, a large pool hewn into the rock, and a stone throne, where Kassapa could survey the land beneath him, and perhaps believe himself a god-king.

But Kassapa was no god. When his brother indeed returned, Kassapa went to meet him in battle. The elephant he was riding swerved, his armies retreated, and Kassapa beheaded himself rather than be captured. Claiming the throne, Kassapa’s brother switched the capital back to its former city, and Sigiriya was handed to Buddhist monks.

The sun is setting as we descend Sigiriya. All around us, the land appears green, with woodland broken by small lakes, and hills to the south and west. We’ve seen there are many farms and villages, but just as in Kassapa’s time, this area is a haunt of wild elephants. And tomorrow, elephants are on our itinerary.