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Yala National Park
Parts of Yala were badly hit by the tsunami. At our request, Wickremesekera shows us the ruins of the safari game lodge, where brick walls lie shattered, trees have become skeletons. There’s the floor of the building where he stayed – when the waves struck that fateful morning, he was already in the park, just leaving a beach where he liked to stop for a tea break. Wickremesekera looked back, saw a wall of water, heard roaring, and yelled to his driver, “Go, there’s a wave coming!” With water surging close, they raced inland, found safety on a low ridge.
Now, he has returned: eco-tourism is Wickremesekera’s career, he has spent countless days at Yala, still loves this place. The lodge will be rebuilt, perhaps nearby, perhaps with a memorial. On this calm afternoon, we offer silent prayers to the victims, here and across so much of Asia.
We stay at a nearby, undamaged hotel, and early the next morning find a waiting jeep with driver S.K. Amarasiri, who will take us on a game drive through the park. He, too, depends on ecotourism for his livelihood, and though two drivers who were friends of his died in the tsunami, he wants tourists to return.
 Amarisiri seems to have eyes in the back of his head, as he navigates us along the dusty roads through thorn scrub. He’s forever pointing out birds and mammals, stopping so we can see painted storks that festoon a small pool, wild boar with stripy piglets running behind them, a ruddy mongoose with its tail turned up at the tip, spotted deer on grassy patches, a peafowl with his long tail feathers spread in an outrageous fan.
Wickremesekera is also finding wildlife in all directions; likewise a tracker from the park service. So I’m astonished when I glance ahead, and see an animal resting by the road just in front of us.
“Leopard!” I exclaim, and we stop. The leopard’s lying on the grassy verge, and watches with apparent indifference as we drive slowly closer. He’s a young male, Wickremesekera informs us. He stands, walks a few paces, and lounges under a bush by the road. Again, Amarisiri brings us closer. The leopard looks at us with intense, fearless eyes, sets his head on his front paws, and dozes right next to us.
“He must have just had a big meal,” says Wickremesekera. “His mother is probably nearby.” We’re with the leopard for an hour before he stands, walks towards us the jeep, then trots along the road as another young leopard emerges to join him. “His sister,” says Wickremesekera. A jeep approaches from the other direction, and they calmly walk off, into the dense scrub.
After a siesta by a river, we continue our safari, with afternoon highlights including an elephant that strides across the road just behind us, and a mugger crocodile perhaps five metres long, stock still by a pool.
 Sinharaja Forest Reserve
 Way too soon, our Sri Lankan adventure is almost over. We have just enough time to stop at the Sinharaja Forest Reserve, Sri Lanka’s only natural World Heritage site. Here, we spend a night in a lodge by the rainforest, where we walk easy trails, and find orchids with flowers topping long, thin stems, a brilliant green, hump-nosed lizard that flicks out a yellow “flag” on its throat, and flocks of birds with more species found only in Sri Lanka.
The best of these is arguably the island’s star bird – Sri Lanka blue magpie. Three fly in to branches just above our heads, so we can admire their tropical blue plumage, brown heads, long tails, and intense red bills and legs. They flop down to branches above a stream. Then, they move deeper into the forest. Soon afterwards, we too depart, replete with fortunate discoveries in this land of cultural treasures, and living gems.
This article first appeared in the June 2005 issue of Discovery (Cathay Pacific Airways' inflight magazine).
See also my album of Sri Lanka photos.
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