Safari in Yala

Dawn breaks over the dry zone, and the park begins to stir. The light, at this hour, is soft and grey, and every creature seems to move a little more carefully because of it. Here, in the scrubland and the still lagoons, water buffalo stand half-submerged, unhurried, as though time itself moves differently in water. A peacock drags its tail through the dust, in no particular rush to impress anyone.

And then — if fortune favours you, and in Yala it very often does — a leopard. Just there, crossing the track ahead, entirely unconcerned by your presence, gone into the undergrowth before you've had the chance to properly believe what you've seen.

The day continues in this way. Elephants move in loose, companionable herds along the tree line. Crocodiles do what crocodiles do best — which is to say, remarkably little — along the banks of a tank. And somewhere above, birds you cannot yet name go about their business, entirely indifferent to being watched.

You need only sit back. The vehicle, private and cool, will carry you there and back, timed precisely for the hours when the park is at its most alive.