I flew 5,500 miles to Sri Lanka and made the greatest discovery of my life

Moments after landing in Sri Lanka after an 11-hour flight, I realised I’d broken the most important promise I ever made. Seven years ago, I spontaneously booked a flight to India and travelled alone for the first time. It was the most transformative trip of my life. There, amid colourful streets and a cacophony of sound, I realised that your happiness is dependent on you alone, and it can be found in the most unlikely places, if only you look hard enough. I promised myself that whenever I felt unhappy, if life became flat and hopeless, I would abandon everything and everyone I knew in search of adventure.

Then I returned to working life and that promise went out the window. But it all came flooding back just minutes into the drive from Colombo airport, as we headed for the central heartlands of Sri Lanka, the first top of our eight-day tour with Jules Verne. I’ve always been skeptical about ‘tour’ holidays, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t anxious about being stuck with five strangers for more than a week.

But in Sri Lanka, my eyes were opened; from once-in-a-lifetime sunrises to late-night cocktails and belly laughs, everything was taken care of, and I can honestly report that it was the most fun I’ve had on a trip in years. I’ve never been sadder to leave a country or group of people. Our journey begins at Sigiriya Rock, an ancient stone fortress built on a bed of volcanic rock that dates back to the 5th century.

Now a UNESCO World Heritage Site that attracts one million tourists each year, our guide Bernard says the ideal time to arrive is 6.30am. But after a long-haul flight the day before, he knows better than to even suggest a pre-dawn alarm clock. Among his many talents, Bernard reads his clients well. On the drive, we see the 600-foot rocky outcrop rising in the distance and stop for a photo a few miles away. We travel closer, the rock becoming more impressive – then I remember we’ll be climbing it.

Still jaded from jet lag, we begin the pilgrimage to the top. I pathetically start to lose my breath minutes into the journey, and then a French tourist walks past me on her return from the summit. While I gasp for air, she’s barely breaking a sweat and her tour guide proudly boasts: ‘This woman is 96 years old and still plays tennis.’. Thankfully there are two routes to the top: one for the faint-hearted and one for those who like to make life unnecessarily challenging. There are no prizes for guessing which path we take.

It’s busy with tourists but nothing like the crowds who travel to Cambodia’s Angkor Watt at an ungodly hour to watch the sunrise, or other similar tourist traps I’ve been to. This is, for now, a road less travelled. The slog to the top is worth every gallon of sweat lost along the way. Lush green jungle stretches as far as the eye can see. If I hadn’t run out of water, I would weep with tears of triumph, but in the humidity, I need to save every bit of water my body has left.

It’s hard to find a bad meal in Sri Lanka, but if you want to treat your taste buds, a visit to Priyamali Gedara Farmer Lunch is non-negotiable. Walking into the restaurant I’m immediately knocked for six from the heat emanating from 32 dishes being cooked at once over burning flames, a tsunami of scents competing for attention. We take a seat outside overlooking the reservoir, before the promise of a downpour from threatening slate clouds inches nearer. After reluctantly giving up our idyllic lunch spot, we settle inside for an unforgettable culinary experience.

An all-female team of chefs whip up mouthwatering delicacies, from fresh fish to dhals and fragrant curries. I leave uncomfortably full and devastated that I will probably never taste another mango chutney quite like this one. I’m stuck with a lifetime of anemic British poppadoms instead. Sri Lanka is so consistently spectacular that travelling around it never feels like a chore. So much so, a train journey was possibly my favourite part of the trip.

Spending an hour at a British train station is a hell I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but here in Kandy, it’s an unexpected delight. As an avid follower of the Accidentally Wes Anderson Instagram account, every corner is a photo opportunity, and the coral-hued station has a calm that doesn’t exist in the UK. The journey is a photographer’s dream too. I’d say I’m more Brooklyn Beckham than Anne Lebowitz behind the camera, but should you be more skilled than me it’s a very special way to spend the day.

On the four-hour ride from Kandy to Nanuhoia, we feast on vegetable samosas that are worryingly addictive; it takes every bit of strength I have not to buy the entire crate of Sri Lankan snacks there and then. A conductor comes past a few minutes later, warning everyone to get their cameras out, waterfalls are coming up ahead. A few of us scramble to a space with an open window to dangle out our heads and iPhones, taking photos and listening to the roar of the water thundering through the mountains.