We had our first sensible morning start time, at last. We left our swanky but very busy, large hotel at 08:30 along with three other larger tourist buses. Today we were heading into Sri Lanka’s Golden Valley of Tea.

Our first stop to break the journey along the very twisty, turning road around rolling hillsides thick with tea bushes, was at what must be the most touristy of the tea plantations. Here, we had a chance to sample various brews of tea including black tea, white tea and broken orange pekoe. What a travesty PG Tips is but, then, I’ve known that for many years. This place was clearly geared up for larger tourist parties and I couldn’t help but think that one of the many others might’ve been a more intimate prospect. I did find an impressive Datura growing beside the car/coach park which Francine managed to do justice to on pixels.

Second stop was at the Grand Hotel at Nuwara Eliya, known as Little England due to its red phone boxes, Victorian colonial architecture and rose gardens, for lunch. Here, a big deal was made of its brick built post office but I couldn’t find that particularly exciting. Much more interesting would’ve been the bustling bus station opposite which looked very Asian.

We continued our journey purportedly to see three waterfalls of which there are many courtesy of all the rolling hills. Our bus called into an overlook of the first; it was distant, not particularly gushing and partly obscured by the all too frequent modern affliction of cables strung across the view. With apparently no way down to get nearer, we scratched it. The second waterfall fell to the cutting room floor in similar fashion.

We approached a third waterfall, Devon Falls, and took a side road. One of our three chiefs alighted and went looking for access. We were close and he’d found a path to the water’s edge. We followed. Hmmm. We were actually at the top of the waterfall rather than looking at its fall. The water flowed over smooth granite rock, gently descending, before it fell precipitously into the valley below at an edge. Health and safety had not been here – great care was needed. The gentler top section that could be photographed easily might’ve been anywhere. This was not what any of us had in mind and it looked as if this part of the tour had not been planned properly but had been done on the fly. Unimpressed.

We stayed for about an hour and were joined by a local family who turned up and began bathing and doing their laundry in the river. Whilst that spoiled what there was of waterfall landscape, it was actually the most interesting part of our stay. Our pro photographer approached them and they all joined in playing to the cameras. Our investigator-in-chief managed to let his long lens drop into the water. The poor ol’ lens was swiftly washed downstream and over the edge of the waterfall into the valley beneath.  Oops!

The journey continued and we wound up at our accommodation for the next two nights, the Farm Resorts at Dickoya. Being a couple, Francine and I were blessed with a brand  new room – brand new in that it was very nearly finished. Most of it worked though, apart from the electrical wires sticking out of the wall with nothing attached to them (not bare – no problem), and we had a splendid view over the reservoir from our beautifully positioned balcony, looking very calm and restful as evening fell. Naturally, evening fell assisted by a couple of cold Lion beers.

That big water without vegetation didn’t look very promising but the property and accommodation certainly did.

The pace of this Explore! tour was described as moderate. We, however, have decided we would describe it as full on. This is day #5 and so far our most civilized alarm (yesterday) has been 06:00. Our first three days consisted of a pre-breakfast visit to Negombo fish market followed by two pre-dawn days at Wilpattu, both beginning with an alarm at 04:45. There has been not yet been any down time. Well, it costs a lot of dosh so you might as well make the most of it.

Today our alarm was set even at an even sillier 03:15. The reason for this unappealing wake-up call was a pre-dawn climb up Pidurangala Rock to photograph sunrise and Lion’s Rock, which is nearby. Dawn is roughly 06:00 but you need to be in position at least 15 minutes early to get set up. In position is at the top of a mountain requiring a climb of 60+ minutes manhandling camera rucksacks and tripods, to boot. There’s a 30-minute drive from our hotel to get to the start of the climb. Throwing in some slack for safety – no point arriving just after sunrise – we got to a 03:15 alarm.

We arrived at base camp and, armed with head torches of course (it was pitch black), we carefully began our climb which started as a walk but developed into some hand-assisted scrambling in places, particularly near the summit. We didn’t have to manhandle just our rucksacks and tripods, there was a lady with us who was v. nervous and also needed coaxing and occasional manhandling herself. She was, of course, manhandled in good taste, so let’s call it “physically encouraging”. With a team effort, we all finally made it safely and began getting settled.

I take descriptions like this quite literally. If someone tells me I’m going to photograph sunrise, then I set up to photograph exactly that, sunrise. I’ve invested in a lightweight travel tripod for this trip and I got it set facing the horizon over which “jocund day stood tiptoe”, as Shakespeare might’ve had it. Landscape photographers have a hard time of it: both sunrises and sunsets are fickle characters. Sometimes they fail to appear altogether and frequently they do not reach expectations. That’s bad enough when you just spill out of your car and set up, looking hopefully at the cloud formations. When you’ve roused yourself at 03:15 and clambered up a mountain in the dark with several kilos of equipment, they can be downright annoying. Downright annoying had afflicted us for our “dawn at Angkor Wat” shoot, which, when dawn failed to appear, just became “Angkor Wat”, complete with green tarpaullin. Most of the world’s iconic sights nowadays seem plagued by tarpaulin, scaffolding or cranes. Such was not the case today, mercifully, but it did feel a little less than spectacular to me. Maybe I’m just hard to please.

After the dawn show, I looked around. Where previously I had seen Francine setting up her tripod, there was now no familiar face in sight. Oh, I should point out that there were plenty of faces in sight – the summit was now crawling with people doing what seems to have become a general bucket-list activity – just no familiar faces. I packed away and went in search of them. A trip around the summit continued to reveal no familiar faces. I finally found them all hiding behind a huge rock looking not towards the dawn but towards Lion’s Rock, in almost the opposite direction. Their collective target was dawn’s light, as it peeked occasionally between the clouds, illuminating Lion’s Rock softly from the side, and very nice it looked too. That’ll teach me to take things literally.

I was getting hungry by now and was quite pleased when our team began packing gear away for the slightly less tricky descent (it was now daylight and we could see). I spotted a post-dawn land and sky scape that I rather fancied and snapped that before heading down. We got back for an indifferent breakfast at 08:45. Where was my lentil curry? I was getting used to lentil curry for breakfast. It felt as if we’d done a whole day already and I was ready for something substantial.

Most of the remainder of the day was taken up driving to Kandy. We did, however, make a couple of brief stops en route. The first was to a wood carving establishment making all manner of useless dust-collecting ornaments and an assortment of atmospheric, i.e. uncomfortable looking, furniture. What looked much less uncomfortable was the collection of delightful young ladies wielding the wood chisels and fashioning the items. Most interesting was a swift demonstration given by a young man of a wood, I think endemic to Sri Lanka, sawdust from which changed colour in water as various other chemicals, such as lime juice, were added. Clearly this wood was doubling as a litmus test.

Next stop was to be given a tour of a spice garden. Our host was a stupendously enthusiastic man with excellent English and a seemingly encyclopaedic knowledge of recipes capitalizing on the active ingredients of every spice under his control. I couldn’t resist buying a couple of packs of cinnamon sticks before we all succumbed to the attentions of a gang of trainee masseurs. Since these were trainees, the massages were nominally free but, of course, one felt a little obliged to give a gratuity. After an hour we continued.

Everyone was looking forward to Kandy because we were booked into a premium hotel, which is very un-Explore! It was indeed very plush and very large. Our rooms were cavernous. naturally the beer prices reflected the upmarket nature of the establishment and had doubled those of our original hotel at about 700/- [rupees] each. It felt very decadent.

The gang was going into Kandy about 3 clicks away to visit the market and, yes, yet another temple. Buddha, what is it with temples!? The hotel was right beside a river and sported its own boat dock. The river was quite large but I thought I owed it to myself to give it a go anyway. Francine would’ve liked to see Kandy market but there had been talk of a possibility of another go at Kandy market tomorrow morning so she opted to join me. Besides, we both fancied a little down time to enjoy to ourselves and relax a bit. Our side of the river initially looked pretty sterile but I could see what looked like decent habitat (shallower, vegetated) over the far side. I asked the concierge how to cross and he directed me out of the hotel, left, left again and over “a damn”. We exited, went left, left again and what we found was a railway bridge. I’ll let the concierge off since I don’t have a single word of Sinhalese. There was a footway beside the railway running over the bridge and we spotted a local casually wandering across. A little heart-in-mouth, we followed suit. [Spot the red tuk-tuk.]

Access to the habitat on the far side proved next to impossible, initially being nearly 10 metres down a 45° slope, then blocked by riverside business stalls and shacks. Drat! We amused ourselves looking at the stalls and shacks – there was even a tuk-tuk and 2-wheeler repair shop – but soon, the rather hectic traffic [oh look, another red tuk-tuk] and noise got the better of us and we made our way back towards the much calmer hotel over the railway bridge again. There were several larger-than-foot-size gaps in the rail bridge planking. “Don’t panic Mr. Mainwaring!” We’d been stepping deftly over these gaps but one gave a view of habitat beneath the bridge on our side of the river. There we spotted a few dragonfly friends zooming about frenetically but given the situation, no decent photographs were ever going to emerge.

The hotel had been invaded by hoards of other guests and had now become considerably less calm than when we’d left. On balance, luxury is all very well but we tend to prefer the quieter, less tourist-rich establishments. Dinner was busy with people swarming around the usual buffet but we chose to go à la carte munching a very acceptable nasi goreng taken sitting in the open beside the swimming pool, having requested that we get as far away from the accursed buffet-centred live music as possible. There’s something jarring about Gerry Rafferty’s Baker Street sung poorly whilst I’m working my way through an otherwise delightful nasi goreng …

Have I got a treat for you? Not just one more temple but two. Yes, two temples in one day. When we visited Cambodia we saw eight temples in one day so Sri Lanka is a bit of a lightweight on the temple stakes. Suffice to say that I was not expecting this to be my favourite day.

First up was a short drive to Mihintale and a climb to Mihintale Peak. For those who fancy it, the route up from the bottom involves 1840 shallow stone steps [it says here]. Our coach tipped us out near the bottom of the first flight of stone steps so we could get a look. At the base was a collection of stalls selling who knows what memorabilia. A group of school children swarmed past and began ascending the steps. One of our number joined in to climb all 1840 steps but most of us climbed back on the bus to be driven up near the summit.

We did then climb the remaining couple of short flights of steps from where our coach was parked. Once at the entrance, we were again faced with, where Buddhist temples in Sri Lanka are concerned, the inevitable shoe rack not before the temple door but before the entire temple grounds. With the combined requirements of exposing my bare feet to the ground and my bared head to the unrelenting rays of the tropical sun, I already determined to remain outside and wait. My wait was made all the easier by the discovery of a modest rockpool at the entrance complete with dragonflies. A Sociable Glider (Tramea limbata) was cruising above it. Having amused myself trying to snag it in flight, my day was made by the appearance of an Indian Rockdweller (Bradinopyga geminata), an uncommon species which I was pleased to see for the first time.

Hats with a brim are necessary for those of us with a bald scalp when in hot, sunny climates. The brim, however, can be a hindrance to wildlife observation. Unseen by me, this site was seething above my head with swarms of Variegated Flutterers (Rhyothemis variegata). This was another lifer for me which I’d seen at the big lake but missed getting a shot of. Now I had plenty of chance to try again. Francine managed to capture a group while I was trying for an individual. Some of our number thought they were looking at butterflies which is understandable because the flight is quite similar.

While I was standing guard over my rockpool, Francine had been off in a nearby part of the temple [yes, barefoot – brava!] when she had seen the swarm of Flutterers over her head and returned to inform me. There was also an almost constant swarm of people descending part of the temple.

So, for the afternoon’s entertainment, we headed for our second temple. Actually, I thought it was another two temples but it seems that it’s one confusing visitors with two names: the Golden Temple or Rock/Cave Temple of Dambulla.  I imagine the Golden Temple tag comes from an enormous golden effigy of Buddha sitting at the base of the hill at the top of which is the Rock temple, which I think is the actual temple itself. Frankly, this golden monstrosity is complete kitch, the poor old golden Buddha’s chin being defaced with large, dark encrustations that looked like some critters’ nests.

At the top of the hill, the Rock temple is a series of caves so I could perhaps get away without my beloved SPF50 Tilley hat. I made the modest climb with my companions. However, once again the shoe and hat depository was some way from the shelter of the caves and once again I declined any religion-imposed risk. Francine is made of sterner stuff, though, and got some pictures, sunset being the main event. She got a Buddha, too, and we really should publish one.

I descended seeking entertainment elsewhere. I wasn’t so lucky this time. I “enjoyed” an indifferent iced coffee before wandering back to the giant golden Buddha where our coach was waiting. There was what would have been an interesting monk chanting session going on through a microphone to an audience holding candles but it was protected by “no photography” signs. Marvellous. A group of bus drivers was talking beside one of the very colourful buses that abound in Sri Lanka. Four young men asked me to take their photograph, which I did. I have a Farcebook name if I can find the right one.

Eventually, I found a cold bottle of water and a table to sit at while I drank it watching Sri Lankan life go on about me. A dog insisted on lying in the middle of the track. It reluctantly made way for a large truck, then returned to its favourite spot. Next a red tuk-tuk began heading for it but this time the animal held doggedly onto its position and it was the tuk-tuk that had to give way. I’ve fallen in love with red tuk-tuks.

Since sunset had been the main photographic target up the hill, darkness had fallen before my travelling companions returned. I finished my litre of water and returned to the bus to join them.

Day three and the third early morning start. We were heading back into Wilpattu NP for another half day before moving on. Once again, because we’d be entering the park at 06:00 we had been given a packed breakfast. After yesterday’s dismal packed food and tepid water, expectations were not high.

Our full day in Wilpattu yesterday had failed to bag us a Leopard (Panthera pardus). Since the safari organizers regard no leopard as a failed safari, that would be the main target that we’d concentrate on today. Francine and I had failed to see a Leopard 20 years ago in Kenya. My expectations were not high this time, either. It was known that a Leopard had been seen at one particular waterhole yesterday but there was no sign of one when we had arrived. Today, we made straight there thinking the earlier the better. When we did arrive, it was obvious every other 4×4 driver had had the same thought; six vehicles were lined up side by side with a single gap of only half a vehicle between one pair. We positioned ourselves to try and peer through the gap. (Try mentally to bolt these two photographs together side by side.)

To be honest, I find this kind of safari tourism unseemly. There are thought to be 30-40 Leopards in Wilpattu as a whole. Given modern communications, word spreads rapidly from driver to driver when one is sighted and 4x4s rush to descend like a pack of baying wolves. Don’t forget that this happens day in, day out. The animals must feel hounded and, where predators are concerned, I can’t help but feel that it puts more stress on their hunting ability.

There were two Leopards at the far end of a small clearing. The 4x4s were not allowed to advance more than they had. Joe Tourist was craning his collective neck to try to catch a glimpse. Occasionally, about 50m away, the top of a spotted back could be seen through the long grass but there was no chance of any photograph worth having. Were it not for the spots and the fact that Cheetahs don’t live in Sri Lanka, recognition would’ve been tricky. This status quo was maintained for about 30 minutes with the only entertainment being the shuffling of a 4×4 or two.

I think one of the Leopards began moving. Our guide then made a brilliant call; he ordered our driver to return to the approach road. It seems the Leopard was heading that way. We took up position on the right hand side of the road – the Leopards had been to our left. Then magic happened; a beautiful, sleek Leopard calmly wandered out into the road and lay down, staring at a rather worried looking Peacock that stood in the road between us and the Leopard.

The road was wide enough for only two vehicles and, given the curve in the road, we had pole position for the clearest shots. Another two 4x4s were on the track beyond the Leopard looking towards us. I’ve got 57 shots of this situation, mostly essentially the same but with the Leopard’s head at slightly different angles. You really only need one. Here’s my favourite close up, I think.

Eventually the Leopard got fed up with staring at the Peacock or feigning disinterest and sauntered back into the bushes. Later another crossed the road making for another water hole on the right of the shots above but it never got into a favourable position. We’d broken our Leopard jinx and went back to the safe toilet-equipped picnic spot for breakfast.

Our surprise breakfast today was revealed to be a bag of cooked chickpeas with a few shreds of coconut mixed in for variety. Clearly the monkeys had more of a taste for chickpeas than they did cheese(less) sandwiches. We had to be more vigilant as one monkey made off with someone’s breakfast box. No great loss, was the considered opinion. I actually like chickpeas but a bit of moisture would’ve made them easier on the throat.

I was alone in finishing most of my chickpeas and wandered off near the lake stalking dragonflies. This caused some consternation. Apparently there was a danger of those good ol’ Mugger Crocodiles lurking about. Visions of Crocodile Dundee sprang to mind. I was keen not to become an item on a reptilian breakfast menu, so reluctantly had to leave my unidentified dragons and sauntered back. Not a completely safe picnic spot, then.

It was time to head for our exit gate and move on. Our next stop would be at the Lakeside Hotel at Anuradhapura. That name sounded promising to an odonata enthusiast. My anticipation grew.

My expectations fell off a little as we arrived. The hotel was actually very nice but the lake was HUGE. Big water is often not very good for dragonflies; we’d just have to see. Before we could check-in, though, Sam keenly led a few of us off into some trees where he pointed out a little seen Scops Owl. European Scops Owls are terrific, sounding like a submarine’s sonar equipment. I was actually quite thrilled to see this Indian Scops. I was hoping we’d hear it overnight but sadly it remained silent so I don’t know what the Indian cousin sounds like.

Eventually I got to the lake. There were no crocodiles, at least, so I could get down to the water’s edge safely. For big water, it proved better than I thought. The margins were shallow with vegetation and I started by seeing Rapacious Flangetails (Ictinogomphus rapax) perched on grass stems and flying off to feed. Most of the critters were a little way out over the water but I had shoes I could wade in and, like the drinking water in our 4x4s at Wilpattu, the lake water here was warm. At first I thought these Flangetails were a species I’d seen in Singapore/Cambodia but no, it was very similar but different, according to the books, so another lifer to add to my collection. These characters really do look deadly, don’t you think?

Everyone but me went off to find their second Buddhist temple and, the trip notes say, the original Sri Maha Bodhi tree under which Buddha gained enlightenment. As a teenager, I vaguely remember gaining enlightenment under some trees near my childhood home [ask no questions] – maybe I should start a new religion myself. The temple was huge and our visitors were treated to an education witnessing something of a Buddhist funeral.

Enlightenment being of little use to me these days, in preference to wandering about barefoot, hatless and increasing my Buddhas collection, I chose to increase my collection of odonata friends so I returned to the lake and notched up a total of 9 species, one of which was a dusk-flying specimen in the hotel hall. Not bad considering I had initially harboured doubts about the size of water.

Our second day and our second early start; even earlier this morning at 05:45 to be precise. We’re heading into Wilpattu National Park itself, which should my main event. Wildlife is mainly active in the earlier morning and again later in the afternoon, so we’d been given the option of going out for the whole day or coming back for lunch then returning. The latter would burn some time driving so as a group we opted for the whole day in the park.

Our accommodation up at Wilpattu is at Backwaters Lodge. It’s intriguing; the rooms are converted shipping containers raised on stilts. That may sound weird but they are anything but shabby including an en suite bathroom and a very necessary air-conditioning unit, shipping containers being very hot. The establishment is into being eco-friendly, which is refreshing. All the furniture in the rooms, including the bed base, is made from palettes. It was very comfortable. No plastic is used. Our shower includes gel in a reusable glass bottle, for example. Of course, if your wet, soapy hands slip and you drop the bottle in the cubicle, it’d most likely break and cause something of a problem. Happily, that didn’t happen.

Much less refreshing is the apparent shortage of refrigeration facilities in the establishment. Yesterday evening after our tardy arrival we had struggled to get cold beers to slake our thirsts and the water (from a reusable glass bottle) at dinner had been served tepid, if not warm. Yummy. Given today’s pre-dawn start we were now provided with a packed breakfast which proved to be pretty dreadful, part being a skinny English-style sandwich requiring a search party to locate the supposed cheese filling. Being out all day, we also had a packed lunch with very similar sandwiches of the now familiar sorry design. Our two 4×4 vehicles carried drinking water for the day but, assuming it had been cold to start with, had it been kept in a cool box? No. Come lunchtime most of the water on board was warm-ish. Not good. Someone needs lessons in catering for wildlife tourists. It can be done; our hired guide, driver in Cambodia six years ago came in a jeep complete with an on board chiller for the plentiful supply of cold bottled water.

Our guide, Sam, bought our entrance tickets and we began our journey down the various tracks of Wilpattu. The area appeared to be a collection of water holes connected by dirt tracks through bush/forest. We’d bounce along down a track, then emerge into the open by a water body. It was a very different experience from the open savannahs of the Maasai Mara in Africa. We saw birdlife along the tracks and the occasional wild pig but most of the larger animal action was around the water holes. For those keen on statistics, there are 65 holes in total but they are seasonal and many dry up; 27 of them contained water now.

Everyone loves Elephants. Fever pitch was reached when, as we emerged beside a very attractive water hole, we were treated to two elephants feeding in the water. Both jeeps stopped followed by a constant rattle of cameras in machine gun mode. Well, first the nearby unused lodge overlooking the water was visited by our female contingent for obvious reasons. Then the cameras began firing. These are, of course, Asian Elephants (Elephas maximus)

As morning continued our team became aware that a Leopard (Panthera partus kotiya), one of Wilpattu’s holy grails, had been spotted by another jeep at one waterhole. As a safari in Sri Lanka is considered a failure without a Leopard sighting, we made for it. What we found on arrival was one jeep parked with two guys snoozing inside, beside a pool containing Mugger Crocodiles [no, I’ve never heard of those before, either]. Here is one, though. What we didn’t find was any Leopard.

Our lunch, including warm-ish water, was taken near another water body equipped with a toilet shack and a whole host of marauding Macaque monkeys. The sandwiches weren’t, in truth, really worth protecting against the monkeys but one feels one has to. Maybe they could find some cheese in ‘em. Throughout the vast majority of the park, with elephant and leopard roaming about, one is not allowed outside the jeeps but here it was apparently safe. There were some dragonflies for me to distract me from the warm drinking water and monkeys.

As we did our best to forget lunch, our drivers made the trip to the coast and Kudiramalai Point. On arrival, I began to wonder why we had bothered. OK, we were atop a serious cliff but the view was hardly photogenic, being just sea. Every boring piece of rock has a silver lining, though, and my silver lining came in the form of about half a dozen White-bellied Sea Eagles (Haliaeetus leucogaster) soaring above. I clicked away happily. Only later did I realize that many of my pictures including a fish grasped in an eagles’ talons. What a stroke of luck.

We had to make a 90-minute journey on very cratered roads to beat curfew and get out of the park by 18:00. We clambered back into our two 4x4s and hit the bumpy dirt track back towards Backwaters Lodge. Traffic was still going the other way so presumably there was another gate in that direction. Several buses passed us but I was very surprised to see tuk-tuks going the other way, too, and not sparing the horses. Those little three wheelers are amazingly versatile and were making what appeared to be light work of some seriously bumpy and pot-holed terrain. I want one but it has to be red.

We arrived at the gate with about 30 minutes to spare. Once back at the lodge I went and asked for a beer, then sat waiting. Nothing happened. Nothing continued to happen. I asked about the beer again. “Now?”, said the waiter. “Yes, very much now”, I replied, incredulously. Surely he didn’t think I wanted to wait for the dinner gong? “Five minutes”, he said. Oh Darwin, it’s not cold, is it? For the love of Pete …

This was our first full day in Sri Lanka and we were up early to get to the local fish market at Negombo before hoards of other tourists arrived. We tipped out of our bus to get an hours worth of very fishy smells up our nostrils.

Most of what was going on consisted of pairs of men carrying two baskets loaded with fish strung on poles. They deposited the fish onto mats spread over the sand where their womenfolk set about spreading them out. This was a drying process. Eventually an older gentleman explained in reasonable English that the fish had been strongly salted and that this is why the ever present birds were not bothersome trying to nick the catch. He also said he’d been on a TV programme with Rick, though he’d forgotten the last name – Stein, of course. The drying process took three days, he said. Taking pictures here was all well and good but tended to result in the subjects asking for money. No wonder I rarely take photographs of people.

After returning to our Negombo Hotel for breakfast we hit the road bound for Wilpattu National Park where we’d be staying for two nights mainly in search of a Leopard. Wilpattu should be a highlight for me. In February 2017 we’d made a trip around Namibia where Etosha should’ve been my highlight but it was someway through that itinerary and I’d managed to succumb to a stomach bug from breakfast at the previous night’s lodge. Wilpattu being at the beginning of this trip, I was hopeful of avoiding any repeat performance.

As our transport was leaving town, we came across a business firing roofing tiles. Ladies were carrying tiles into a vast kiln where they were being stacked. A similar large kiln room on the opposite side of the building was already being heated by large wood fires looking more like pizza ovens. Our bus pulled in so we could get a closer look.

Continuing the journey, it was refreshing to get our first glimpse of Sri Lanka’s countryside rather than a city. We made our way to a lakeside restaurant at Kurunegala for a comfort break and a coffee. Lotus flowers were growing in the lake margins and a man was harvesting them. Yay, habitat! Personally, I was much less interested in a coffee than I was in the possibility of my first encounter with some Sri Lankan dragonflies. I was not disappointed. My first customer was a new species for me: Blue Pursuer (Potamarcha congener). Two others that looked familiar also proved to be new species so I was off to a decent start.

We continued to the first of our Buddhist temples. I suppose it’s inevitable that we’d get Buddha’d out on such a trip. Frankly I’d rather have stayed at the lake playing with the dragonflies but I went along not knowing where we were going afterwards … and to show willing.

Now, we’ve done [plenty of] Buddhist temples before and are familiar with the ol’ take-your-shoes-off-before-entering routine. It’s done at the door, right? Well, no, not in Sri Lanka apparently. Here, at Ridi Viharaya temple (Silver Temple) the shoe rack was at least 200m away from the temple itself. We’re talking 30+°C here meaning that we had to walk across baking hot concrete paving stones covered in dark berries and assorted other detritus, much of which was sharp underfoot. As a wrinkle that was new to me, Buddha was not only barefoot but didn’t wear a hat, so neither could I wear a hat. With the soles of my bare feet getting burned and pricked as well as stained with black berries, and my head getting frazzled in between the scant patches of shade, I gritted my teeth, persevered and got half way before thinking “sod this” and returning to the shoe rack equally uncomfortably. You are permitted to wear socks if you don’t mind ruining them. While a more determined Francine captured the requisite array of Buddhas, I redonned my shoes and hat – I ain’t risking skin cancer on my unprotected head for any religion – so I could go and play with butterflies on a patch of grass outside. Unexpectedly since water was not apparent, I found a dragonfly, too.

Francine returned quite promptly but some others took what seemed like hours. Eventually, however, they were rounded up and we returned to the lake for a late lunch. Darn, I could’ve stayed playing with the dragonflies instead of killing the soles of my feet after all. Never mind, I got another chance now and there was a cooperative Indian Darter (Anhinga melanogaster), known colloquially as a snakebird because of its snake-like neck, posing on a branch just in front of the restaurant.

The temple had caused a bit of a delay so when we did finally arrive at our accommodation just outside the Wilpattu NP boundary we were running a little late and darkness would soon be falling.

Religion should come with a health warning. If one has to cut ones feet to shreds and die of skin cancer, there’d better bloody well be an afterlife.

We were awoken for breakfast, perhaps a little early, with about three hours still to run. I could not resist choosing the supposedly traditional Sri Lankan breakfast of tuna curry, though I simply cannot remember the name of the dish. To be frank, I wasn’t thunderously impressed but perhaps I wasn’t yet hungry enough. A spicy curry for breakfast shows a certain style, though.

After the remaining three hours and an addictively comfortable flight, at 13:00 local time [5½ hours ahead of the UK, BTW] our Sri Lankan Airbus A330 squeaked down onto terra firma at Bandaranaike International Airport, Colombo. We’d arrived. Our electronically applied for 30-day visas got us through immigration quickly, our priority-tagged bags appeared quickly, too, and we were soon walking past a surreal collection of shops selling not only the expected booze and perfumery but also an assortment of cooking pots and, believe it or not, washing machines. “I’ll just pick up a new washing machine on my way back through the airport, sweetheart”. Hmmm? Somewhat slack-jawed, we were soon introducing ourselves to our Explore! guide waiting just outside the arrivals area.

You can’t buy Sri Lankan Rupees back home so it is necessary to get them on arrival. It’s also necessary to change back any remaining Rupees upon departure. We left our bags and brand-spanking-new washing machine in the care of our guide, Sam, while we went to launder some money at one of the many exchange desks. [Couldn’t we have done that in our new washing machine?] There were 224 Rupees to the Pound Sterling so the numbers on the dosh they throw at you are pretty large. Our biggest 5000/- [the Rupee sign is just the same as we used for old pre-decimal shillings with no pence] note is roughly £22 so I thought of them as £25. Our smallest note was 20/- which is like 10p and useful mostly for toilet stops. There are coins, too, which we were told even beggars don’t want.

Companions for the 12-day trip soon began joining us. That didn’t take long, though, there being just another three, one of which was an Explore! employee and Sam’s boss. There was also our attendant professional travel photographer, Renato, so we had three chiefs and four braves.

Our guide, Sam, was accompanied by a modest 20-odd seat coach complete with driver, Hector, and assistant, Samith [silent “h”, we think] who looked after our comfort aboard, including supplying us with cold water. In 30°C and high humidity, a very chipper Samith loaded all our bags and assorted washing machines leaving us just to load ourselves, pockets stuffed with our wads of newly acquired cash. The coach’s air conditioning helped abate our perspiring.

Hector drove us a little way north of Colombo to a hotel right on the beach at Negombo for our first overnight stay. We were presented with a traditional refreshing cold towel as we arrived, followed by a welcome fruit drink which was very sweet. Very sweet drinks were to become the norm in Sri Lanka. We were soon correcting the palate with a cold beer. A large bottle (about 1 pint) of local Lion lager cost 390/- [a shade under £2] here. I could cope with that. Palate rebooted, it was time to investigate.

Our room had an uninterrupted sea view; uninterrupted, that is, except for wires strung vertically across the front of our balcony and, indeed, all along the floors of the hotel. Francine soon realized that these were to stop the many hundreds of crows that inhabited the beach from landing on and fouling the hotel building – simple but apparently effective.

Local fishermen were sailing back and forth just off shore in their traditional boats which were outrigger canoes powered by colourful sails. Francine and I went for a somewhat sweaty wander (walking on sand is hard work) along the beach to get a closer look. Eventually I was lucky enough to watch as one crew came ashore with their catch. The 4-man crew saw me taking pictures and offered to take me out, for money, of course, but I tried to explain the concept of sea-sickness. The main man said it was calm. Remembering the way his craft had pitched its way ashore, I mimed puking and suggested this did not meet my definition of calm.

There was a quite sharp shelving off of the sand towards the water’s edge. Along here were countless tiny sand crabs who scurried away down their excavated burrows at the merest hint of danger. With all the predatory crows flying back and forth, I didn’t blame them. Oddly, I didn’t see a single sea gull so that bears investigation. I was captivated by the tiny crabs, mostly struggling to make 2ins/4cms across, including legs. Getting down at eye level, their eyes being up on stalks but only about 1cm above the sand, would be a challenge without getting smothered. I borrowed a beach towel from the hotel and managed it. The sun was westering behind my subject so I used a fill-in flash to brighten he or she – not good at sexing sand crabs – and put a glint in those wonderful eyes.

Our attendant pro travel photographer organized a sunset shoot starting at 18:00 that evening. Negombo beach faces directly west over the Indian Ocean and, being a mere 5° north of the equator, the sun drops vertically and very quickly below the horizon. Sunset was 18:30. Now, if those photogenic sailing boats had still been out there with the setting sun, the sunset might have made a very appealing picture. However, the wind drops at about 18:00 forcing sail-powered craft back to shore so all one ends up with is sea and sun; not terribly exciting no matter how well Francine photographed it … and she did. It’s pretty enough, though. You can, however, find some foreground interest ashore, even if it is encroaching on the privacy of of a couple lurking around a fishing canoe.

We’re off to Sri Lanka on a photographic tour organized by Explore! [That’s not me falling onto the modern habit of over using exclamation marks, that’s part of the company name.] The UL504 Sri Lankan flight time to Colombo is very civilized, taking off from Heathrow at 20:30, so we didn’t have to be at Heathrow until 17:00. I’d pre-booked parking and planned to arrive at 16:00. Mr. Cautious strikes again.

The 10½-hour flight promised to be civilized, too; we’d splashed out on business class seats, doubling the cost of the holiday. There is no guilt about spending the kids’ inheritance when there are no kids.

Our number plate was recognized at the car park entrance barrier and we found a space almost immediately. We clambered on the rather scruffy shuttle bus and were soon checking in at terminal 3. Well, Francine had already checked in online but there’s still bag drop and the clerk issued proper old-style card boarding passes. Good, it makes it feel more like travelling and is quicker than pratting with a mobile phone. We were also presented with entrance invitations to the business class lounge. [Incidentally, I now realize that first class, for the most part, seems to have fallen by the wayside and business class is now it. There are still odd references to first class in the departure area but I don’t know who still does it.]

The lounges are, of course, great, with food and booze laid on. I grabbed a G&T – Bombay Sapphire and Fever Tree so top marks Heathrow – and settled down at a window seat to watch the planes. [I know, some folks never grow up.] Then the modern business world began to encroach. Listening to one end of several mobile phone conversations held in public is bad enough but having to listen to both ends of a bloody FaceTime video call undertaken in public takes the irritation to a new level. Two guys, one sitting either side of us at the same window, both fired up bloody-Face-bloody-Time. The whole mobile phone culture has made everyone but me, apparently, completely unashamed and unabashed about holding personal conversations in public. I pine for the days of telephone booths when private conversations were just that, private. To be fair to the chap on our right, he eventually did plug in headphones so that we were left with just one side of the conversation. Planes didn’t trump peace, though, so we moved seats to get mostly out of earshot and grabbed another couple of glasses of reality correction fluid.

Boarding was punctual and we were soon familiarizing ourselves with the controls of the posh-class seat. I knew these seats went completely flat – we’ve walked passed them enviously often enough – but at 6’ 1”/1.85m, I thought I may have trouble getting completely flat. Not a bit of it; I’d say the seat went totally flat with sufficient room for someone 6’ 3”/1.87m. This cabin is 1-2-1 rather than the 2-3-2 or even 3-4-3 that we’re used to and the clever arrangement of the seats affords reasonable privacy from fellow travellers. The Sri Lankan stewardesses were a delight and, after another little help from a straight Absolut vodka as an aperitif followed by wine with dinner, I settled down for the overnight flight.

This was the first time I’d slept on a long haul flight since Pan Am was going down the toilet many years ago, their flights being so underutilized that I benefitted from three seats to myself in my more familiar tourist class. This seat was a lot more comfortable than three individual buckets with the intervening arm rests raised, though. Travelling like this could become habit-forming.