We crossed a few stream beds where the water must run several meters deep during rain storms; dark volcanic rubble polished round and smooth by the running water glistened in the afternoon sun, but for now they were dry. From the hilltop (300m) the view was outstanding: green and rumpled, as far as the eye could see. The unappreciated jewels of tropical islands are their highlands, away from the reefs and the crowds, where the breeze turns cool and the only sound is the call of the birds.

We spent our first few nights in the southeast, on Blue Bay, named for obvious reasons but so truly deserving of the name. An enormous stretch of coral reef we'd admired even from our descending plane arches boldly out from the shore, embracing a small, wooded islet and a shallow bay steeped in a myriad shades of blue. A shallow channel brought in the rising tide from somewhere behind the islet, and well beyond that, against the ramparts of coral, thumping waves from the South Indian Ocean sent mares' tails of sea foam flying towards shore.