Udawalawe National Park, 8th May 2025. Guests: Mr and Mrs Barlow, honeymooners from the UK.
I did not know it was their honeymoon until after the safari was done and they had already left. Only found out when they mentioned it in a message later. I felt a bit silly about not asking earlier. Small lesson I will carry forward.
When they first messaged me, they said they were coming to Sri Lanka for two weeks and staying at RIU Ahungalla. They asked what made my safari different. I explained honestly and simply, as I always do: slow pace, small group, ethical as we can realistically manage, all-inclusive, and built around actually being inside the park rather than racing through it.
They booked right away.
The night before
The night before the safari I rented a car and got home early. On the way back I stopped to buy fresh fruits and snacks for the trip. I tried to sleep early, but my brain was still running and I had to be up by 3am anyway.
By 4am I was already on the road to Ahungalla. The drive was mostly smooth until rain came suddenly through the forest section. Typical May weather in Sri Lanka. Blue sky one moment, then pouring.
I got to RIU just before 6am as promised. Texted them. Within one minute they came out: smiling, ready, genuinely excited. We loaded the bags and started the two-hour drive to Udawalawe.
The first unexpected problem
About 20 minutes into the drive I was explaining to Mr and Mrs Barlow how Sri Lankan buses behave on the road, always overtaking and cutting, and how people need to be careful. I also mentioned that I am known for being calm and careful behind the wheel.
We were approaching the Southern Expressway entrance. There were stray dogs lying in the middle of the road. I slowed down, honked a few times, watched most of them move, counted them, and thought they had all cleared. I pressed the accelerator, barely moving at all.
Then a sound I wish I had not heard.
One dog had still been lying down, half-hidden behind another. I had barely touched it with the bumper. He got up barking and ran to the side and looked unhurt, but it shook me. And there was a police officer at the gate who had seen the whole thing.
I did not argue or make excuses. I rolled down the window and told him straight away it was my fault and that I should have gotten out to check properly before moving. He looked at the tourists in the back, said "Be safe out there," and waved us through.
I kept quiet for a while after that. Then I apologised to Mr and Mrs Barlow. They were kind about it. But I still felt heavy.
The car problem
Mr Barlow was very tall. Properly tall. Six foot six at least. And I had rented a Prius C, which is a compact car, not a sedan. Not the right match for someone his size.
After a while he asked very politely whether he could sit in the front seat instead. Of course. I pulled over, let him switch. He squeezed in and was more comfortable, but I could still see it was not ideal for a two-hour drive.
I decided then and there, quietly to myself, that on the return journey I would arrange a proper minivan. Even if it cost me more. Some things you do not do because guests ask for it. You do it because it feels like the right thing.
Breakfast at my uncle's
We arrived at my uncle Ajith's place in Udawalawe where we always stop for breakfast before entering the park. My aunt had already prepared: coconut rotties, pol sambol, dhal, bananas, and tea. Simple, fresh, and proper. Not the kind of food you get handed in a paper bag at most operators. Mr and Mrs Barlow seemed to enjoy every bit of it.
After breakfast we got into the jeep with Uncle Ajith, who locals call "Baby Safari" because of how gently he drives: slow, calm, careful, never chasing another jeep, never rushing an animal.
Inside the park
We entered around 10am. Intentionally. The early-morning convoy of jeeps was already on its way out. The afternoon crowd had not started. The park in that middle window is noticeably quieter.
Within two kilometres of entering, Janitha pointed ahead quietly. Two adult male elephants, standing close together, feeding.
Adult males do not usually hang out together. They are solitary animals, especially during musth. Two males near each other typically means they are either sizing each other up or actively competing. We switched off the engine, kept a good distance, and just watched. Completely still. For about 25 minutes only one other jeep passed briefly. The rest of the time it was just us.
Later we drove deeper toward Jithwila, a small quiet lake that most jeeps do not bother reaching. Most routes in the park circle the main areas. We always make time for the less-travelled ones.
At Jithwila there was a massive crocodile on the bank. Easily one of the largest I have seen in a long time. Just lying there as if the sun belonged to him personally.
We continued deeper. Butterflies across the track. Curry leaf trees brushing the sides of the jeep. Langurs leaping through the branches. Macaques foraging along the ground. Not a single other jeep around us.
Lunch by the river
By 1pm we stopped near the Weli Oya river for lunch. Uncle Ajith and I gave Mr and Mrs Barlow some space while they ate and we stood quietly behind the jeep, keeping watch. You never quite know if an elephant will decide to appear.
A monkey crept up close and started making noise, clearly hoping for something. I do not normally encourage feeding wildlife, and I say this to all my guests. But I have been in this situation enough times to know what happens if you ignore a determined monkey near food: he calls the rest of the troop. So I tossed him a slice of watermelon, just enough to keep him occupied while we packed up and got back in the jeep.
We left nothing behind.
The afternoon
The park was still active in the afternoon. Herds of deer near Seenuggala, easily hundreds, small fawns among them. More elephants. Hornbills. A Sri Lankan giant squirrel, which is rarer to spot than it sounds. A wild rabbit, which I can count on one hand how many times I have seen in Udawalawe. A water buffalo that froze in the middle of the road, stared at us like he was posing for a photograph, then darted into the forest.
A stunning Asian Paradise Flycatcher, its long orange tail floating behind it like a piece of ribbon in still air.
By 3pm the park was starting to fill again with the afternoon session. We were near the exit when we spotted another group of elephants and stopped. Within a few minutes more jeeps arrived, one after another. The quiet moment dissolved.
I turned to my guests and asked quietly: "Shall we leave?"
They smiled. "Yes, let's."
Just before the gate, one last sighting: a small elephant calf with tusks, walking alone. The perfect final image.
After the park
Instead of the return route, we stopped briefly at the Udawalawe reservoir. More buffalo, egrets, painted storks. Then a roadside stop I had been planning since we left Ahungalla: fresh green mango, sliced and spiced with chilli and salt.
Mr and Mrs Barlow had never had mango like that. They were used to sweet mango, sometimes even with sugar. This was sharp and sour and hot all at once. They loved it.
I had already arranged the minivan for the return journey. Mr Barlow did not have to squeeze into the Prius C again. He never once complained. That made it feel more important to do, not less.
We reached RIU Ahungalla around 7pm. Tired and happy. They told me stories about their life back home. I told them more about ours. By the time we said goodbye it felt like we had shared something real.
Only later did I find out it was their honeymoon.
Some safaris are about ticking boxes. This one was not.
The roadside mango. The baby elephant with tusks. The monkey who got exactly one slice of watermelon. Two bulls standing together in the morning light. Mr Barlow finally comfortable in the front seat.
The small honest moments. That is what stays.
