Little England, Big Buffet
The final day of 2025 arrived with a sense of anticipation and a very full itinerary. It was a long travel day from Kandy to Nuwara Eliya, clocking in at around four and a half hours on the bus, but that didn’t dampen any of our spirits. Excitement was high across the board, regardless of age, and if anything, my semi-retired cohort seemed particularly determined to see the year out properly. Special mention to my favourite 82-year-old, who was drinking sidecars on my birthday and returned to bring the heat again for New Year’s Eve.
We wound our way through the hills with a few memorable stops along the way. Red bananas were tasted. Tea leaves were traced from plant to cup at a local tea factory, where I learned just how much of the process is still done by hand. After sampling and buying more tea than any one person reasonably needs, we pressed on toward lunch at the Nuwara Eliya Golf Club. It was yet another excellent meal and another moment of quiet reflection about my rapidly tightening pants.
Then we arrived at The Grand Hotel.
Nuwara Eliya has been nicknamed “Little England”, and The Grand Hotel fully commits to the brief. Built by the British during colonial times when Sri Lanka was still known as Ceylon, the hotel feels like a step back in time. Manicured gardens, old-world charm, and a distinctly English sweetness wrapped up in grandeur. It was impressive, indulgent, and unapologetically extravagant.
Because it was December 31, we were in for something extra.
The New Year’s Eve buffet began at 8pm and ran straight through to midnight and I say this without exaggeration… it was the biggest buffet I have ever experienced in my life. Mexican. Pasta. Roasts. Seafood. Sri Lankan curries. Salads. Breads. Fruits. Desserts. Cheese. Stations upon stations of abundance. It was both thrilling and deeply concerning for my wardrobe.
I tried as many dishes as I possibly could, even as I began to feel like a boiled egg secured tightly with a rubber band. The night unfolded beautifully. There was dancing. A Queen Pageant moment that will live rent-free in my mind forever. Drinks flowed freely and fireworks erupted with an impressive disregard for crowd safety, which seems to be the national approach here and honestly, I respect it.
I welcomed 2026 surrounded by some of the most well-travelled, wise, and unexpectedly lively people I’ve ever met. It was loud, joyful, and pretty damn perfect.
The next morning arrived a little earlier than expected. At 9am we were back on the road, heading out for a gentle four kilometre walk through the tea hills. Single Tree Hill offered soft, misty views as clouds rolled in and rain hovered just close enough to keep things interesting. It was grounding and calm and exactly what we needed after the indulgence of the night before. Briefly, at least…
By 1.30pm, we were seated once again at The Grand Hotel, this time for high tea. Four different teas. Savoury bites. Scones. Cakes. I was back in heaven. It was serene, comforting, and an elegant way to ease into a new year that had already started strong.
Later, a few of us wandered into town to explore the Bale Street Bazaar. Shops packed tightly with winter clothing from every brand you can think of, and shopkeepers eager for you to try on everything. It felt chaotic, familiar, and oddly fun, with repeated assurances of “no pressure” and “no force” to buy. I posted postcards, jumped into a tuk tuk back to the hotel, and spent the afternoon exactly how I wanted to. Chardonnay. Cards. Easy conversation.
As I sat quietly later that evening, tea in hand, it struck me how gently 2026 had arrived. After fireworks and excess, it had softened quickly into misty hills, good food, and good company.
Nuwara Eliya felt like a pause. A place that allowed indulgence and balance to coexist. If 2026 has taught me anything already, it’s that balance is important and my pants are on very thin ice.