FIVE AWE-INSPIRING RAIL JOURNEYS IN SRI LANKA

The bright skin-browning mid-afternoon sun drove me and a gaggle of locals toward the cool shaded entrance of Galle Railway Station. In the open hall there was no chattering split-flap destination displays, just a large chestnut board with the stations hand-painted neatly in yellow. A quaint hand-wound analogue clock hung beside each one to denote the departure time. White-sneakered schoolgirls with book-heavy backpacks shuffled forward in the ticket line like turtles. I booked a third-class ticket to Balapitiya. The vendor handed me a purple chit – like an old movie stub – printed with calligraphic Sinhalese. It cost 70 rupees, roughly 25 pence. “Hurry, hurry,” ushered our guide, Richard. “We only have four minutes until the train arrives!”

If rail travel conjures images of airless cabins crammed with glum commuters buried in their phones or trapped in their own sphere of stress, let Sri Lanka redefine the experience. Home to some of the most scenic rail routes in the world, the “Teardrop of India” offers views of towering tiers of neon-green tea fields wrapped around curvaceous hillsides, cascading waterfalls, cloud-shrouded pine forests and cerulean seas curling onto white-sand beaches. Forget stuffy rules. Here you can swap seats to natter with your neighbour, hang freely out of windows and open doors to catch the cooling breeze (though be careful). 

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The idea of building railways here was first explored by the British in 1842, with the aim of transporting coffee, coconut, rubber and tea from the plantations around Kandy to Colombo on the coast for export. For more than a century its locomotives rarely carried a single passenger. When Sri Lanka gained independence in 1948, however, train use rose dramatically for a short period until the economy flipped from agriculture to industry, and rails were suddenly eclipsed by roads. For sixty years, the railways fell into decline. Diesel didn’t replace the old steam trains until the 1970s. But in 2010, a major reinvigoration project was launched and the Sri Lankan rail network enjoyed a rebirth. Lovers of locomotives will be agog at the shabby-chic crowded carriages.

Back on the platform, our the train was 25 minutes late. We waited on benches, beside a salt-and-pepper-haired lady, bags corralled around her sandalled feet. Sari-robed mothers paraded up and down the platform hand-in-hand with their young daughters to keep them entertained. I noticed grass growing between the tracks, a reminder that life often moves more slowly here and that there’s an enduring beauty in that truth.

The voice of the announcer crackled over the speaker – first in Sinhalese, then in English – and soon after, a burnt-orange locomotive chugged into view. The driver nodded at me as I joined the queue, grabbed the handle and levered myself up into the carriage. Inside, the corners of the brown-leather benches were dog-eared and the floor had worn thin in places. Small fans positioned above the aisles spun relentlessly in their cages, and the toilet was spotless. I noticed the seats at the end of each cabin were reserved not for women and children, or indeed for the elderly, but “For Clergy”.

As we started to pull out of the station, I took a contemplative walk through the train. Teenagers, sprightly now that school had ended for the day, hooked their elbows out of the glassless window frames. Schoolgirls with long oiled braids and red headbands sat with their legs crossed demurely, watching the antics of the blue-shorted boys, mismatched socks sprouting from their scuffed black-leather shoes, as they giddily tickled each other across the aisle. 

A young girl sat on her mother’s lap, her head resting gently on the window ledge as she watched the world spool by. I took a seat and noticed it had been too long a day for some: a young boy lay horizontal on the bench, his school bag serving as a pillow. He didn’t move an inch when a pair of lads chased each other down the aisle, their white uniforms spattered with purple ink. “What’s going on?” I asked with a grin. “It’s a dare!” they laughed. “We have to see if we can escape getting hit.” I pictured the look on their mothers’ faces when they sheepishly returned home with tie-dye shirts and trousers. 

 

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The bodies only served to amplify the humid air, so I moved towards the door at the end of the carriage. Kids parted to let me lean out of the train, the wind whipping my hair and drying the sweat on my skin. We rattled past palm tree-shaded homes that occasionally parted to offer tantalising glimpses of the azure Laccadive Sea and its surfer-studded waves. And then, as we passed through Hikkaduwa, a 30m-high cream-coloured Buddha loomed into view, a replica of one of the Buddhas of Bamiyan, destroyed by the Taliban in Afghanistan 21 years ago. The statue was erected in memory of the 1,700 lives lost when the 2004 tsunami struck the Queen of the Sea train at this point as it travelled south from Colombo. It was a moment of peaceful remembrance before we rumbled on.

Soon after, an older boy in a white Adidas T-shirt and red Nike baseball cap tapped me boldly on the shoulder. “iPhone 13 Pro,” he announced, pointing to my hand that was filming out the door. I nodded. “Selfie?” he asked, slinging his arm around my shoulder and effecting a model’s pout.

We snapped a picture, and at the next stop he and his friends jumped eagerly from the train and waved at me animatedly until the slow-moving carriages inched away from the platform. It was the perfect reminder that train journeys offer an immersion in local life that can’t be bettered, and that riding Sri Lanka’s railways, in particular, have a hazy, bygone-era romance that is rare to track down nowadays.

Sri Lanka’s five best rail routes

Kandy to Badulla 

Distance: 165km

All aboard for one of the most scenic rail rides in the world. Once used for the transportation of tea, this British-built line curls for seven-to-eight hours around hillsides tiered with neon-green tea bushes, their rows punctuated by the bright saris of the tea pickers, who wear baskets slung from their foreheads. Be sure to hold your nose to the air to catch occasional wafts of lemongrass, and hold your breath as the train traverses steep ravines and valleys. Look out too for the iconic Nine Arch Bridge, a colonial viaduct on the outskirts of Demodara nicknamed the “Bridge in the Sky” because it hovers above the jungle below. At Ella, be sure to hike back to the bridge later for unforgettable photos – it’s at its best (and quietest) at sunrise.

Nuwara Eliya to Ella

Distance: 55km

If the above seems like too long to spend on a train, you can abbreviate it by just doing part of the route. The three-to-four-hour section that snakes its way out of Nanu Oya Station, on the outskirts of Nuwara Eliya (Central Province), to the backpacker town of Ella (Uva Province) is magical. By road it would only take 90 minutes, but this route crosses steep mountain ranges, hence the extended travel time. It is home to the epic Ella Gap panorama, so snag a seat on the left-hand side for the best views and watch tiers of tea terraces – Nuwara Eliya sits at the heart of Sri Lanka’s tea production region – and ethereal cloud forests spool past. 

Colombo to Kandy 

Distance: 125km

Ride the rails of history. This classic journey traces a section of the country’s first major route, from Colombo to Ambepussa, which opened in December 1864. Trundle away from the tuk-tuk-crowded streets and high rises of the Sri Lankan capital and travel inland, past the serene greens of paddy fields and palm trees, to the leafy sacred city of Kandy that centres around a bird-rich lake and is home to the Temple of the Tooth, said to protect the Buddha’s left canine. You’ll be swapping dusty dry coastal air for the cool breezes of the highlands; the journey takes approximately 2.5 hours, with daily departures every three hours. 

Colombo to Galle 

Distance: 120km

This two-to-2.5-hour coastal locomotive snakes down the western edge of the island from the capital to the southern Portuguese-founded city of Galle, which is also rich in Dutch colonial architecture. As you ride the line, tall buildings shrink to corrugated iron-roof shacks festooned with laundry, parting to reveal glimpses of the sandy beaches and clear-blue sea. In places, the tracks almost run parallel with the shore, so sit on the right-hand side for the best views of these unending seascapes, beachside towns and gaggles of wave-chasing surfers. As each minute passes, you’ll feel the stress of city life melting away. 

Anuradhapura to Jaffna 

Distance: 195km

UNESCO-listed Anuradhapura is Sri Lanka’s ancient capital, characterised by giant stupas and temples, and is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world. The route from there to Jaffna, in the lesser-visited Hindu north of the island, was severed during Sri Lanka’s 26-year-long civil war. Rail travel came to a standstill, with this route only reopening in 2014. Travellers embarking on the 3.5-hour-long journey today will see flatter landscapes, salt pans and rattle through the Elephant Pass that controls entry to the Jaffna peninsula. The north boasts far fewer visitors and some of Sri Lanka’s best unspoilt beaches, making it a worthy escape.

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