Colourful trip on the island of tears

AS our train from Colombo snaked up the jungled hills to Kandy, ancient capital of Sri Lanka, the rain came down and the distant mountains disappeared behind mist rising like smoke from valleys far below us.

I opened the door at the end of the carriage and leaned out, snapping the views: the wet, red carriages rounding the cutting ahead; the deep green of jungle; the dashes of colour as local people walked along the track, women in brilliant saris, men in colourful lungis; school children all in dazzling white. Everyone carried umbrellas, these as bright as the fruits and flowers of the giant jungle trees on the slope below us, their canopies almost at eye-level as we passed.

Standing in the open doorway enjoying the breeze and the cool humidity was infinitely more pleasant than sitting in the observation car, albeit the latter had cost us all of €3 each for the three-hour journey, first class. My wife joined me. The ticket collector flashed us a broad smile as he passed. He understood: we were cooling down and taking photos.