Landscape is dry and wild, with salt flat

The Kandalama Reservoir can be seen from the Kandalama hotel Chances are that when you land at Bandarnaike Airport in Colombo, your taxi driver will ask, \"First time coming to Sri Lanka?\" If your answer is yes, it\'s equally likely your taxi driver will tell you all about the charms of his island, from the \"Little England\" of the hill country to the beaches in the south.
But if, like me, you\'re no stranger to Sri Lanka, chances are that your taxi driver will want to know where you\'ve been and what you\'ve seen.
I tell Hemantha, who\'ll be driving my mother and I around during our week-long stay, that I have visited his country many times. I\'ve contemplated Buddha\'s tooth in Kandy, watched a cricket match in Dambulla, traipsed around the ancient city of Polonnaruwa, driven up the famous A9 Highway to Jaffna during the ceasefire between government forces and the Tamil Tigers in 2002, and visited fishing towns along the coast after the Indian Ocean tsunami in 2006.
This time I\'ll be exploring an irregular quadrilateral tract of land starting from Puttlam on the north-west coast, moving south towards the centre of the island, before looping back up north to the old capital of Anuradhapura.
Puttlam, my first stop, is a fishing village in Sri Lanka\'s dry zone. Predominantly Muslim, many of its inhabitants were relocated here from Jaffna because of tensions with the Tamil Tigers. During the war, this was a relatively safe place to be, but tourists never ventured here because two of the main attractions in the area - Puttlam Lagoon and the Willpattu National Park, Sri Lanka\'s largest park - were off limits, occupied by the Sri Lankan army and navy.
Now you can go looking for pink dolphins in the lagoon, and the park has finally opened its gates again.
It took us nearly six hours to reach Alankuda, the beach resort we\'ve booked. Hemantha overshoots, driving us 25km beyond to the town of Kal-pittiyam. There\'s no signage to speak of, so we have to ask for directions and after a lengthy phone conversation with the staff, Hemantha finds the correct turning off the road.
The landscape here is dry and wild, with salt flats, prawn hatcheries and goats wearing odd contraptions made of sticks around their necks to keep them from wandering too far. The entry into Alankuda\'s wooden gates is one filled with relief and beauty. We leave the arid dunes behind and arrive in a mini oasis - dry-zone grass and Palmyra trees everywhere.
Alankuda is an innovative entrepreneurial venture based on the rather rare idea of sharing. Four properties (Bar Reef Resort, Palagama Beach,Khomba House and Udekki) have pooled their resources to promote the area around their resorts in the hope of turning Puttlam into a beach destination with a difference. This isn\'t the beach experience you\'ll find in the sheltered southern coast of the country, which is greener and gentler. Here, the sea is rough, raw and virtually abandoned. There\'s even a kite-surfing school nearby for adventurous types.
Bar Reef Resort (until recently, it was named Alankuda Beach Resort) is the main hotel, and is a lovely sprawl of mud and wood cabanas and villas. The abiding theme is space: lots and lots of space. Everything is made out of natural materials – grass roofs, mud walls, a shower that magically sprouts out from a tree. It’s all very relaxed and comfortable. The cabana we’re assigned is simple and elegant, with the bed, walls and floors all made from mud and painted a warm ochre colour. It’s a bit of a trek to get to the bathroom, but the privacy each place offers is really one of the highlights of this property.
You can while away your day at the gigantic saltwater pool facing the ocean or you could relax in the ambalama – a traditional wooden hut, originally built as a resting place for travellers. At Bar Reef Resort, all meals are taken at the ambalama, buffet-style for breakfast and lunch but western-style for dinner. Guests sit informally on cushions, balancing plates on their knees, chatting with a glass in hand. While I was visiting, a Sri Lankan family equipped with a guitar sang the night away while fibre-optic stars shone from the depths of the swimming pool. It was magical.