Yala National Park (Sri Lanka)
07 January 2026
It has always been my mother’s
dream to go on safari in Africa. Ever since I can remember, it was a recurring
theme in those inevitable conversations of inspired optimism which were often
typified by questions such as “What’s the number one place on your bucket
list?” For my father, it was always somewhere in the “South Seas,” by which he
meant any island with a Polynesian heritage that evoked the films of his youth.
For my mother, it was the wilds of Africa where her imagination would
consistently take her.
Fortunately, I have been lucky
enough to help both of them bring those dreams to life. For my father, it was a
week in Tahiti in 2000. For my mother, it was when Inga and I took her on a
three-day safari in Kruger National Park in 2017.
Why do I say this? Because I can
understand the romanticised view my father held of the South Pacific. For many
Europeans, the idea of Polynesia was so distant and almost mythical in its
allure that it may as well have been like imagining a trip to the moon—particularly
when considered through the lens of the 1950s.
That said, Africa may well have
been viewed in much the same way at the time, shaped by literature and popular
accounts of big game hunting and the romanticism of the so-called “wilds” of
the continent.
Why do I lead with this? Because it’s the
inevitable prelude.
When I travelled with my parents
to Tahiti, it was easy to imagine nothing more than pure indulgence—cocktails
by the pool, the sound of ukuleles drifting on a gentle breeze, and waves
rolling in across the deep blues of the South Pacific. In contrast, a safari in
Africa never held the same appeal for me. It seemed, at the time, like a rather
unremarkable proposition: how much could one really get out of driving through
scrubland in the back of a Jeep?
How wrong I was.
A safari in Kruger National Park
has since become one of the highlights of my life to date. To be within a few
steps of some of the most iconic creatures on the planet, to hear the rustle of
branches and immediately register the immense presence of whatever was moving
through them, to experience the smells and textures of the bush—these things
left a lasting impression. Most of all, there was a clear and humbling
understanding that I was only ever a visitor in that landscape.
Although the Jeep we were travelling in offered a measure of safety within a human-made framework, it was impossible to ignore the reality that stepping just a few paces into the scrub would place you entirely at the mercy of the environment which enveloped us.
Which thus brings me to Yala National
Park, on the southern coast of Sri Lanka. When I saw that we had the the opportunity to share a
similar experience with Aiden, I didn’t hesitate to make the decision to book the excursion. It felt like a chance to
introduce him to something that has left an indelible mark on our own memories, and in some way, would resonate within him as a
We left Mirissa mid-morning on 7
April, en route to the hill town of Ella, with a planned half-day safari
through the park along the way.
Before researching Sri Lanka, I
had been largely unaware of the country’s national parks. While they may not be
as widely known or as celebrated as those in Africa, they nonetheless offer an
extraordinary opportunity to observe native wildlife in its natural habitat.
That was exactly the experience I wanted Aiden to have. At six years old, I
knew the memories would likely be fragmented—just a handful of vivid
snapshots—but those are often the most important ones, the kind that spark
questions, curiosity, and a lasting sense of discovery.
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The setup for Yala National Park
was similar to Kruger in that we were travelling in an open safari vehicle,
with tiered seating that rose slightly from front to back. Inga, Aiden, and I
sat in the rear, settling in as we arrived at the Yala Reserve entrance gates
for what would be a four-hour adventure.
From our first experience in
Kruger, Inga and I had learned that much of a safari experience is dependent on
luck—where you happen to be at any given moment, the skill and instinct of your
driver, and your own level of attentiveness. While there are clear similarities
between both reserves—a sense of openness, and the feeling of being a guest in
a shared space—there is also a curious psychological effect at play. You begin
to convince yourself that you are somehow enclosed within a protective bubble,
as though the vehicle creates an invisible and universally respected boundary.
It has always struck me how persistent that illusion of safety can be, no
matter where I travel.
From my perspective, the
experience in Yala didn’t quite reach the heights of what we encountered in
South Africa, particularly in terms of wildlife diversity and the sense of
serendipity that Kruger delivered. That said, we still saw elephants, monkeys,
crocodiles, and an impressive range of birdlife, all set against the raw and
untouched beauty of Sri Lanka’s southern reaches. On its own terms, it was
absolutely worthwhile—especially as an experience we hope will stay with Aiden.
For anyone unsure whether to
include Yala in their itinerary, I would say it is absolutely worth doing,
particularly if you have not experienced a safari before. In that case, it will
likely stand out as one of the highlights of a trip to Sri Lanka.
However, if you have spent time
on more extensive or immersive safaris elsewhere and are expecting something
comparable, it may be wise to moderate expectations. Yala is still a very
rewarding experience, but my perspective is inevitably shaped by comparison.
Had we spent more time fully immersed in the park, our impression might well
have been different.
We wrapped up in the late
afternoon, exiting the reserve around 6:00pm as the sun dipped toward the
western horizon. From there, we continued on to our next destination—the hill
town of Ella, roughly 2.5 to 3 hours away.
We drifted through scattered
towns that briefly punctuated the otherwise unbroken darkness of the night. In
the final hour, we began our ascent toward Ella, navigating relentless winding
turns, with ever-steeper drops edging the roadside and a noticeable chill
settling into the air as we climbed higher.
Our real challenge came in the
final hour of the journey. The place we had booked—aptly named “Awesome
Place”—was about 10 km outside Ella. At first, that didn’t concern me in the
slightest, but I quickly realised my mistake when that short distance turned
into a 45-minute ordeal, winding through nerve-wracking mountain roads in
complete darkness. Only to feel a larger onset of dread when our transfer came
to the ‘end of the line’ on a desolate mountain trail and said in no uncertain
terms, ‘this is as far as I can go’….what? What does that mean?
What that meant, as we were soon
to discover, was that the hotel had to send its own transfer vehicle for the
final 2 km of the journey. Why? Because no reasonably sane driver would attempt
that stretch without risking serious damage to their vehicle.
What followed shortly
after—bouncing around in the back of a van with virtually no suspension—was a
track so rough and boulder-strewn that it felt less like a road and more like
being tossed around on a jumping castle, only without any of the fun or comfort.
After a further 30 minutes of
what can only be described as Sri Lankan trail torture, we finally arrived at
our hillside oasis. Wrapped in cool mountain air and a light drizzle, it felt
both special and entirely removed from anything we had experienced so far.
Welcome to Ella—there was clearly much more to discover here.
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