The sun rises early in Sri Lanka, so when we left our hotel for the train station this morning it was already light out. It was a hectic but controlled scene on the platform, where we grabbed a light breakfast before settling into our seats. Our railcar was relatively empty, with a few fellow backpackers and some families joining us on the journey inland.

After passing through suburban Colombo, the landscape quickly changed to lush jungle with beautiful sun-bleached family homes and rice paddies. I stared out the window in awe, without even taking a photo. I had heard of Sri Lanka’s famous train journeys, of course, but I figured the landscape an hour outside its capital city wouldn’t be too dramatically different. After another hour or so on the train, we arrived in Kandy, the country’s second city.

Signs welcomed us to the hill kingdom, a reference to Kandy’s rolling landscape and fabled history as the last kingdom to fall to European colonial rule in the nineteenth century. Museums across Colombo eagerly recount the Kandyans’ skillful defeat of the Portuguese in several battles that proved humbling for Lisbon’s hopes of absorbing all of Sri Lanka into its empire.

Our first site of the day was the Sri Dalada Maligawa, better known as the Temple of the Tooth, home to a renowned Buddhist relic. In hopes of escaping the Sri Lankan heat, I wore a pair of khaki shorts and sneakers — an outfit that had served me well in Colombo. However, as we passed through the temple entrance, a guard stopped me with a wag of his finger.

“No shorties,” he said. “Not allowed.”

To be honest, I believe this was the first time I had ever been dress coded, not counting situations like being turned away from a nice beachside restaurant for wearing a bathing suit. The guard tossed me a tan skirt-like sarong, which I tied around my waist. After arriving at the ticket stand, we debated paying the rather high ticket price or returning later on to beat the tourist crowds. We opted for the latter, and I’ll be more intentional with my clothing choices going forward.

Instead, we walked around the scenic Kandy Lake, passing by Buddhist devotees clad in all white as they headed to the temple. Sievalee’s family is from Kandy, and we talked about the differences between Kandyan culture and that of Sri Lanka’s other regions. Having heard about a traditional dance show held at the Kandyan Cultural Center, we decided to check it out on our way around the lake. As it turned out, both the cultural center and the Red Cross — situated just next door — offered shows at the exact same time. We decided to go to the show at the government-sponsored Kandyan Cultural Center, which turned out to be a solid choice.

With an hour or so before the show started, we completed our loop around the lake and spotted some wildlife, including huge lizards and colorful birds. Outside of St. Paul’s Anglican Church, an aged, charming brick building surrounded by leafy trees, we grabbed a coffee to shake off the mid-afternoon slump.

The dance show, which took place in a large auditorium that was about one-third full, was spectacular — men in bright yellow backflipped across the stage as women in equally colorful dresses danced gracefully. Several performers played traditional instruments, while others twirled and tossed plates. Even though the performance was catered toward tourists, Sievalee reported that the dancing was both impressive and authentic. I found no room to disagree.

After the show, we headed to a rooftop restaurant to watch the sun set and listen to the birds call out to one another. The views of Kandy’s hills were stunning, and the evening mist settled in as the final birdsong faded into the quiet of dusk.

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