Elephants, Buddha carvings, and south to the Dambulla cave temples

We find elephants soon after leaving the forest lodge. Two stand right by the road. But these are working elephants, in a village that specialises in elephants for hire. We pass a mahout walking an elephant along the road – perfectly normal here, but an odd sight to us.

There’s more sightseeing at Polonnaruwa, Sri Lanka’s capital city from the 11th to early 13th centuries. Here, we make a series of halts at historic sites, including the ruins of a palace that was seven storeys high, and a former library. Under a scorching midday sun, we walk to the Val Gihara statues: three sublime Buddha carvings in a low granite cliff.

Buddhism remains at the core of life in Sri Lanka, and we find cattle egrets seem almost indifferent to people walking close by – small white herons, they search grassy slopes for insects, barely moving as we approach.

After a “rice and curry” lunch, we clamber into a jeep, for a game drive, to search for some of the hundreds of elephants that roam Minneriya National Park and nearby areas. Turning off a metalled road, we’re soon bouncing along a rough track through tall grass, shrubs and trees – a scene recalling African savannah.

Lurching over a gully, we find our first elephant, a couple of hundred metres or more away, ambling towards a wood. Others follow, including two females with a calf that’s almost hidden by the grass. Then, back to the main road. “The elephants like to come near the road in late afternoon,” says Wickremesekera, and we’re soon watching a bull grazing in full view.

Two jeep drivers alert us to more elephants that have been found nearby, and we join people spilling out of jeeps, and crossing railway lines to see at least five elephants that are walking through the trees and grass. It’s almost nightfall: time to return to the lodge.

Noticing traffic has stopped in front of us, Wickremesekera says, “There’s an elephant crossing the road!” We drive up to find the elephant – a bull - little more than ten metres away. He’s enormous, way taller than we are as we stand in the jeep, and emanates powerful self-confidence. Seemingly oblivious to such trivia as admiring humans and passing cars and trucks, he trundles slowly away.
 

After another night in the lodge, another magical dawn as mists grace a small lake (with a peafowl in a treetop silhouetted against the rising sun - a new bird for me), we turn south. We call in at Dambulla, where wonderful tranquillity permeates the cave grottoes with their Buddhist paintings and carvings. Then, the roads lead us up, into the hills.

Into the hills, and the view from World's End

Following roads like English country lanes, we wind up from the low areas with their palm trees, to pass through tea plantations on rolling hillsides, and arrive at a highland hotel hailing from colonial days. Here, at 4 am the next morning, we drink local tea in a cosy front room, ready for a pre-dawn drive to Horton Plains, and an early search for an elusive, special bird.

There’s a brisk, chill wind blowing as we wait on the fringe of a wood, with first light seeping through misty clouds. We hear a thin, shrill call behind us. “Sri Lanka Whistling Thrush!” whispers Wickremesekera, and we turn to see a bird fly from the shadows, into dense undergrowth.

The thrush sings, a soft warbling, flies again and perches, tantalisingly out of sight. Then, it comes closer, and sings in full view. It’s compact, indigo blue: not a spectacular appearance, but this is a world rarity, found only in the highlands of Sri Lanka, and is among the 33 bird species that are unique to this island.

We walk through the woods, finding more birds. Then, with the fast rising sun baking away the mist, we drive on, past rolling, grassy moorland with small herds of sambar deer. Two tame sambar deer stand by the entrance to Horton Plains National Park; they watch as we enter, and walk a footpath crossing a stretch of moor. Turning left, we enter a wood.

On this cool, moist plateau over 2000 metres above sea level, the trees are small, yet look old and wizened, their branches hung by wispy beards of moss. The path leads us to an abrupt escarpment – World’s End. Cliffs drop away from us, to foothills rolling down to the plain, where a reservoir shimmers in the distance.

Now we’ve seen what the end of the world looks like, we’re bound for the lowlands again – for the southeast coast, and Yala National Park.