By night, this stretch of the Gulf of Thailand becomes a quiet constellation of green and blue lights. The bright beacons strung along the horizon are squid-fishing boats, their powerful lamps suspended high above the decks to draw the squid towards the surface. Each light may be visible from as far as fifteen or twenty kilometres away, their glow mirrored perfectly in the flat calm of the sea.

Yesterday evening the water was so still, it felt like gliding over glass. I had two kilometres of beach entirely to myself, the surf reduced to a faint whisper. Thung Wua Laen shelves so gently that you can wade out fifty metres before the water reaches your chest. Beyond that, the sea shimmered green and blue from the distant boats – the only movement a faint pulse of phosphorescence when my hands broke the surface.

A swim beneath those lights, with the night sky overhead and the horizon glowing like a string of emeralds and sapphires, felt like slipping briefly out of time.

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