In Colombo, everything hits at once: colour, smells, heat, and then the sudden release of a cool breeze in the back of a tuktuk as it weaves through the streets. Heading north, the air thickens and clings before sunrise, sticky and heavy, as I climb Sigiriya, the ancient rock fortress. Time seems to fall away, modern life dissolving, and below, the jungle stretches endlessly in every direction.

The train from Kandy to Ella winds through the highlands, doors open to the wind rushing through the packed carriage. Rows of tea plantations glide past, small stations painted in fading pastels, the mountains offering a quiet relief, cooler and softer.

South to Mirissa, life slows, days measured by saltwater, markets, and the steady pulse of the shoreline. In Galle, I wandered the old fort walls at golden hour, the light settling softly over the city, lingering like a memory that refuses to fade.