Courtesy The ipaper

The Northern Line is an 8-hour journey from Jaffna in the north of the island to the capital Colombo, on a line that was reconstructed after the civil warTrain travel in Sri Lanka takes you through its tropical heartlands (Photo: Jaromir/Getty)

The first time I went to Jaffna was by train. It was fantastic, but it took 10 and a half hours,” Colombo-based Dhanushka Weerasekara, my guide from Blue Lanka Tours, tells me across the breakfast table. I was excited but nervous because of the language barrier.”

A decade after services resumed, the Yal Devi Express train remains a vital link between Jaffna, deep in Sri Lanka’s Tamil-speaking Hindu north, and the capital, Colombo.

Like most of the south, west and centre of the country, Colombo is majority Sinhalese Buddhist, and it had been separated from Jaffna not only by language but a 26-year civil war, which brought new levels of barbarity to the attention of the world.

After the war ended in 2009, it took six years for the route used by the Yal Devi, meaning goddess of Jaffna” in Tamil, to be restored. The 339km (211 mile) rail journey now takes just eight hours, though I have been warned about the theoretical nature of its timetabling, despite it reaching speeds that could only have been dreamed of when the line was first inaugurated 120 years ago this year.

I’m travelling in the opposite direction to Dhanushka, from Jaffna to Colombo, and without his guiding hand. Only recently added to tourist circuits of the island, Jaffna is closer to India than it is to Colombo, and is still catching up with the south of the island in terms of development. Nonetheless, it’s as warm in ambience as it is in climate.

On Jaffna’s main thoroughfare, Grand Bazaar Road, autorickshaws jostle for space with meandering cyclists, diesel-spouting government buses and occasional free roaming cows.

The Malayan Café, a city institution since its founding in 1951, serves cheap but nourishing curries incorporating ingredients from the central market opposite, where the combined scent of incense, jasmine and ripening jackfruit drifts between stalls stacked with jaggery, the local unrefined sugar.

When it comes time to depart, the train, russet red on the exterior, and with functional, late-20th century plastic fittings and leatherette seating, is only a tenth full.

I develop the feeling that only a fool pays extra for a seat reservation, which I have, almost doubling the £3 price tag for a second-class ticket on the daily service. That’s less than my hotel charged me for a single island-brewed Lion Lager. But Dhanushka left me with very strict instructions to obtain a seat reservation, and if nothing else, I want to prove myself worthy of his trust.

The marshy ground beyond the windows of the carriage alternates between carefully tended paddy fields and wild golden grasses that sway in the languid breeze. As we hit our 120km/h (75mph) top speed, the rattling clatter of wheels on rails startles and scatters a small herd of cows, while peahens and black-headed ibis strut about with no concern for either marauding cattle or speeding express.

There’s no sign of elephants though – while completely wild, Sri Lanka’s estimated population of around 5,000 pachyderms largely stays within protected areas such as Hurulu Eco-Park, where an early morning safari before heading to Jaffna got me within eyelash-counting distance of young females that were as nonplussed by my presence as the birds beside the railway tracks.

Aboard the train, hawkers stroll up and down the aisle with increasing regularity, selling everything from sweet milky Ceylon tea and vegetable roti, to candy floss and cashew nuts coated in a garam masala spice blend unique to each vendor.

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By Anuradhapura, approximately a third of the way south, I’m rather gladder of my seat reservation than I had been, as crowds envelop the carriage doors at each station, doing polite but determined battle to step aboard first and claim the last of the remaining seats.

The seats are comfy and reclining, with significantly more legroom than I’m used to as a frequent traveller on East Midland trains between London and Sheffield.

The train takes a rough north-south line through the centre of the country before slipping westward towards the capital, and almost religious sounding bells at multiple level crossings warn each new community that we’re approaching.

My arrival into Colombo Fort station declares itself through the gradual increase in build-up, narrow alleys and shining skyscrapers hinting at what’s to come. I may have been on board for eight hours, but Colombo has come into view too early for my liking – and, take note East Midlands Railway, exactly on time.