Perhaps it was the aftermath of four weeks in India spent negotiating my every movement that had considerably shortened my fuse. Perhaps my cool Canadian good nature had melted away in the three-digit steamy heat. Or perhaps, like the Grinch, my heart was simply two sizes too small that day.

I was cranky, unreasonably chagrined at paying 30 Sri Lankan rupees for a second-class train seat, only to discover all seats taken when I boarded, fully 45 minutes before departure. The one-hour train ride from Kandy, a city of central Sri Lanka to Rambukanna, and another half hour by bus to the Pinnawala Elephant Orphanage was far too long for me to stand, especially at the unreasonable hour of 7 a.m.

I had paid for a seat. I plopped down on a third-class bench and angled out of the window until I caught the eye of an agreeable Sri Lankan rail worker. He inspected my ticket, listened earnestly to my predicament, and cheerily beckoned me back to the second-class car: “Come, come!”

It was early; I was fatigued, sweltering and peevish. For all its magnificent splendors, there is no sufficient cappuccino equivalent in Kandy, and I was wrathfully into a week of full-blown caffeine withdrawal. I was not naively going back to a carriage I knew was full. It could be a scam:

The orphanage is a breeding ground for elephants.

I might not only lose my third-class seat and have to stand for a whole hour, but possibly have to pay for another pass. (In my defense, this actually happened to me in China.) I snatched my ticket back with a petulant exhalation, slumped against the open window and sulked into the tropical scenery, determined to commandeer as much space as possible along the cracked blue vinyl.

The jungle canopy was luxuriant in the bright face of morning. The verdant tangle swayed in a sweet zephyr while fruit burst from the earth in all manner of seeds, flowers and spikes. Waterfalls streamed over smooth-shouldered chocolate boulders, easing into pools mirroring sapphire sky and raw-silk clouds. Inside, locals unconcernedly alternated between sitting and standing.

Adults and children sang together, white teeth glinting delightedly in the splintered light, in a pleasured crescendo as the train shot through short black tunnels. The passengers around me eagerly consumed exotic snacks: baskets of crunchy fried bundles laced with spicy dried peppers; mammoth cobs of steamed golden corn; bunches of enigmatic sugary fruit. Grudgingly, I felt my irritations begin to subside.

Several passengers pointed out the Rambukanna station to me. I stalked to the main road, past the sinewy barrier of auto rickshaw drivers and friendly touts. Where was the connecting bus to the village of Pinnawala? After I asked two different people and received convincing gestures in completely opposite directions, my anxiety ratcheted up a few notches.

Hungry for business and undoubtedly smelling sweaty desperation and foreign currency emanating from my incandescent white skin, a line of auto rickshaw drivers commenced vigorous animation of their green and yellow tin chariots.

“Can I help you?” I looked skeptically from the gritty ground at my dirty feet to see pressed trousers, a casual pinstripe shirt and a welcoming smile.

I realized that as independent as I wanted to be, I did, in fact, need some help. Through clenched teeth, I ungraciously replied that I needed to find the Pinnawala bus, but that I did not want to have to pay him to show me where it was.

The warm smile wavered somewhat, like a cloud passing through a clear afternoon. “I am not a beggar! I don’t want your money. I am a real Sri Lankan! I will help you — come!” And my day-long lesson in humility began.

The self-assured fellow walked me to the bus, secured me a window seat, and waited on the bus until the driver confirmed that it was, indeed, headed for the elephant orphanage. Twenty minutes later, no fewer than five passengers and the driver cheerfully pointed out my stop.

Sri Lanka, an island country in the Indian Ocean just southeast of India, is home to about 3,000 wild elephants, down from about 20,000 animals 150 years ago. Humans encroach on their habitat, which is rapidly shrinking.

When elephant cows are killed, if the hungry animals raid a farmer’s field for example, the nursing young usually have no other chance of survival than the 24-acre (9.7 hectares) Pinnawala Elephant Orphanage established in 1975 by the Sri Lanka Wildlife Department. Today, the orphanage is also a breeding ground for elephants.