Luxury cycling in Sri Lanka: Epic ride offers plentiful scenic, cultural, and culinary delights

No mode of transportation offers more scope for visceral thrills than cycling. And the sensory overload that travelling by means of pedal power provides is especially intense in Sri Lanka — one of the most beautiful countries in the world.

Falling like a tear from India’s flank, Sri Lanka’s otherworldly allure is legendary. Known to Arab traders as Serendib – fitting source material for the word ‘serendipity’ – and British colonists as Ceylon, Sri Lanka, with its tropical bounty of paradise beaches, jungle-clad mountains, and tumbling waterfalls, is as stunning as any place on earth.

And I’m getting an eyeful of this visual manna as I pilot a road bike along the shores of Yoda Lake en route to Yala National Park.On my left side, the expanse — created as a water source for agriculture centuries ago by an ancient king — is as inviting as any postcard scene. Distant green mountains frame the brilliant blue waters and water buffalo patrol the shallow depths. It's tempting to switch off and enjoy the view, but vigilance on these roads is necessary. Indeed, I’m nearly shunted off the road by a tuk-tuk emblazoned with the words “proud to be a Sri Lankan”.

At the far edge of the lake, I'm engulfed by a holy racket. A recording of Pali chanting is blaring out of loudspeakers fixed to the trees near a Buddhist temple. The sound is nearly deafening, yet strangely enchanting. My guide, Rajith of bike tour operator Across Ceylon, signals a rest stop so we park up at a nearby teashop and enjoy the late afternoon scene in a beatific caffeine-fuelled revery.

I'm in Sri Lanka testing my calves and soaking in the spiritual vibes on choice sections of the Tour de Resplendent, a new biking adventure linking five properties run by Resplendent Ceylon, the luxury hospitality arm of tea giant Dilmah.

The journey, a collaboration between Resplendent Ceylon and Across Ceylon, offers cyclists a chance to traverse Sri Lanka's south coast, from Ahu Bay through Cape Weligama and Kayaam House, ending at Wild Coast Tented Lodge. From there, the route leaves the serene coconut-palm-covered flatlands, climbing into the rugged hills of Sri Lanka’s tea country. The ascent through sharp switchback roads leads to Ceylon Tea Trails, where five former tea-planter bungalows have been transformed into luxurious retreats around Castlereagh Lake.

While I’m only experiencing a short section of the Tour due to time constraints, the segment between Kaayam House in Tangalle and Wild Coast Tented Lodge in Yala National Park is enough to showcase its potential. Along the way, fuelled by cups of sweet milk tea, I get a sense of the ambition behind this cycling route. The conclusion is clear: it’s an exceptional addition to Sri Lanka’s travel offerings.

My entry point into this exploration of Sri Lanka is Kayaam House in Tangalle. The property sits between the endless blue of the Indian Ocean and the dense greenery of the southern coastline. Its whitewashed colonial-style arches, reclaimed wood accents, and turquoise tones set the mood — a calm and contemplative space that invites you to slow down. The infinity pool stretches towards the horizon, framed by frangipani blossoms, while yoga sessions in the beachfront shala offer moments of reflection before the physical challenges ahead.

Early morning riding in Tangalle is a revelation. The roads, still cool from the night air, lead past sleepy fishing villages where the tang of salted fish drifts from drying racks. Dragonflies hover above mirror-like lagoons. Women in vibrant saris gather in the rice fields, their rhythmic movements as hypnotic as the hum of crickets. At roadside stalls, vendors pour thick, sweet milk tea into chipped porcelain cups, their smiles as warm as the beverage.

I trade the saddle for a kayak on my final morning at Kayaam House. Paddling through Rekawa Lagoon at sunrise, the water mirrors the pastel hues of the sky, broken only by the ripples of my oar. Later, on a deserted stretch of beach, I watch as baby turtles scramble towards the ocean, their tiny bodies silhouetted against the golden sand.

Sri Lanka’s south coast is a study in contradictions. The serene beauty of its coconut-fringed beaches is offset by the chaos of its roads. Death-defying buses barrel past with no regard for lanes, tuk-tuks weave through traffic like frenzied dancers, and the occasional rogue cow takes its time crossing the asphalt. But no hazard compares to the wild elephants.

On one stretch of road near Yala National Park, Rajith shouts over his shoulder, “Slow down — elephant ahead!” Sure enough, a hulking figure emerges from the trees, its ears flaring. I freeze, the bike wobbling beneath me, as the animal lifts its massive leg—a clear warning. My heart pounds. The elephant stares for an agonizing moment before retreating into the undergrowth, leaving me exhilarated and slightly shaky.

Yala’s untamed wilderness is best experienced from Wild Coast Tented Lodge, a safari retreat that feels both luxurious and raw. The property’s tented suites, shaped to mimic a leopard’s paw print, blend into the landscape of wind-sculpted dunes and thick jungle. By day, cyclists can swap their bikes for a jeep, venturing into the park to spot leopards, elephants, and peacocks. At night, a seafood feast awaits: lobster, crab, and reef fish served under a starlit sky, the sound of waves crashing just metres away.

The ride from Yala to Sri Lanka’s hill country is a test of endurance. The flatlands of the coast give way to steep switchbacks and hairpin turns. The air grows cooler, laced with the scent of eucalyptus and wet earth. The climb is relentless but rewarding. Each pedal stroke reveals a new panorama: valleys blanketed in tea bushes, waterfalls cascading down mossy cliffs, and clouds so close they seem within reach.

At 4,000 feet above sea level, Ceylon Tea Trails offers a respite that feels like stepping into another era. The collection of colonial-era bungalows, once the homes of British tea estate managers, sits amidst manicured gardens overlooking Castlereagh Lake. My room at Norwood Bungalow, with its antique furniture and claw-foot tub, feels like a portal to the days of the Raj. Afternoons here are a leisurely affair: gin and tonics on the lawn, speed croquet matches, and endless cups of tea served with crumbly scones and clotted cream.

Exploring the tea fields on foot reveals a different side of Sri Lanka. Guided by Wasantha, a local naturalist, I learn about the flora and fauna that thrive in this high-altitude haven. Wildflowers dot the trails, their colours vibrant against the green expanse. Tea pickers move through the bushes with practised efficiency, their hands a blur as they pluck the leaves that fuel the island's most famous export.

While the scenery is a constant highlight, it’s the people who leave the deepest impression. Sri Lanka has weathered its share of storms — terror attacks, a crippling economic crisis, and political upheaval — but there’s a resilience and optimism here that’s impossible to ignore. Rajith speaks candidly about the hardships of recent years but adds, “We hope the worst is behind us. This is a land of plenty, and we are a people who endure.”

Food is another essential part of the journey. Cycling burns calories at an alarming rate, but Sri Lanka’s cuisine more than compensates. Breakfasts revolve around hoppers — bowl-shaped pancakes made from fermented rice flour and coconut milk — filled with fiery curries and sambols. Post-ride feasts at Ceylon Tea Trails include a tea-infused tasting menu, while at Wild Coast Tented Lodge, the seafood platters are the stuff of legend. Every meal feels like a celebration of the island’s culinary heritage, a fusion of bold spices and fresh, local ingredients.

Back at Norwood Bungalow, I decide to have one last ride for the road. As I struggle up the steep driveway — the prospect of a Negroni aperitif driving me onwards — I realise that Sri Lanka has left its mark. Not just in my aching muscles and sunburned skin, but via indelible memories of its landscapes, its people, and its energy. For cyclists, there are few better ways to discover this island’s many layers than on the open road.