After a two-hour stint surfing the Internet I had come up with two options: the Maldives or Sri Lanka. I favoured the Maldives, so that I could get in some diving and snorkelling. She could not fail to be happy there, I reckoned. We would get a two-bedroomed villa with a large terrace overlooking the sea. Staff would be on hand to fulfill her every request and she could enjoy some of the most beautiful scenery in the world.

Presented with the options, she was surprisingly decisive: "Ceylon, yes, that's where we will go. What a splendid idea!" In the four weeks leading up to the trip, she had taken it upon herself to read up all about Sri Lanka, "the former Ceylon", and every day she would present me with a new tit-bit to mull over. She had now become an expert on everything from tea production and Buddha's tooth relic to orphan elephants. However, it was the pictures of unspoilt beaches that had grabbed her attention.

Through the early morning mist, we caught our first glimpses of Sri Lanka. Marco Polo reportedly said it was the finest island of its size in the world and it certainly has a great deal to offer. From its beaches and underwater gardens to its verdant tea-covered mountains and magnificent ancient cities, it is a tourist's delight.

Later, sitting on the verandah of our hotel, The Blue Water, we looked down the long stretch of beach as we tasted our first cup of Ceylon's finest. The hotel, with 100 rooms, is built around a magnificent swimming pool, amidst coconut groves. Our ground floor rooms led out into the gardens. The next two days slipped away as I rid myself of many months of hard work, alternating between swimming laps of the pool, working out in the gym and sleeping.

My mother busied herself meeting the local fishermen on the beach and visiting the shops and markets dotted around the seaside town. After 48 hours, she seemed to have heard every eyewitness account of the devastating tsunami in December 2004 as well as personal details of all the staff members. "Hello Ginnie," she said, when one staff member delivered lunch to our poolside table. "She's got two sets of twins," she whispered to me.

Mom seemed almost reluctant to leave Wadduwa, but I had booked the next five nights in Galle, a historic fort town further down the coast. The town boasts of a long history stretching back centuries, even before the Portuguese, Dutch and British colonial days. Some scholars believe it to be the "Tarshish" of the Old Testament to which King Solomon sent his merchant vessels.

Today it is home to the historic 90-acre preserved Dutch Fort, which was declared an archeological reserve by the UN in 1969. Despite many attempts to modernise Galle, it still retains a unique old-world atmosphere. Stroll the ramparts at dusk, hear the call to prayer from mosques, the Pali chants from Buddhist temples and the fish sellers and tinkers hawking their wares on Main Street. With its fine colonial mansions, narrow streets and antique cars, the Fort area is a haunting escape into the past.

I had chosen to stay at the Lighthouse Hotel and Spa, which sits on a hillock overlooking a natural reef and bay, which is safe for swimming nearly all year round. "Another blissful beach," my mother announced as she sipped a gin and tonic on the pooldeck that night. Unfortunately, work problems back home dipped into my leisure time and I was forced to spend part of every day working.

I managed to find time to dine with her in the hotel's amazing teak-furnished Cinnamon Room and take a stroll to a nearby bird sanctuary, but my unexpected work load meant she had to spend most of the day alone. However, it didn't seem to faze my mother one bit. She hired a car and driver and set off on exploratory trips. With the Galle Fort only two kilometres away and the amazing little shops and alleys of the town to check out, she was in her element.

One day she returned almost breathless with excitement. "I have found the best beach," she announced. She arranged an early morning expedition the next day to show me her find. Just after dawn, we were driven a few kilometres to Unawatuna beach. The driver placed two deckchairs on the sand and then served us steaming coffee from a flask. The sweeping bay, with fishing boats bobbing in the distance, was indeed a spectacular sight. "Thanks for the best holiday," she said simply.

With only a day of our trip to go and my work crisis over, I approached my mom with the prospect of taking a trip to the interior of the island, where much of the cultural interest lies. There's the ancient fortress of Sigirya, the tea plantations and natural wonders like the Sinharaja rainforest. However, she surprisingly turned down the offer. "I told you all I wanted this time was a blissful beach and you gave it to me," she said, adding with a twinkle in her eye: "There's always another time for that." I have the feeling that in the not-too-distant future, Sri Lanka will see us again.