Aquamarine and charcoal grey, the sea was set against a stormy sky, and in the distance there were thunderbolts. The waves came rolling in ahead of the wind. The coconut palms rustled, but the birds had long since been silent. One of the resort cats, heavily pregnant, meowed pitifully, begging to be allowed in to our bungalow. It was cold and we shivered; anticipating the rain, but longing for it, it would bring relief from muggy days and sweltering nights.

The wind came in directly from the sea, bringing the rain - it seemed horizontally. The bamboo bungalow let in a slight draft, but was wonderful shelter. We rushed outside at the first sound of rain to bring in our washing, but discovered that it was completely sheltered at the leeward side of the house. Two layers of bamboo walls, and not a whisper of wind could be felt nor a drop of rain under the roof.

In the morning, the sun rose over a refreshed world. The birds were chirpier. The mynahs particularly playful and cheeky. I walked on the wet grass with bare feet, enjoying the way my heels dug into the soft warm sand. Beyond the grass was the beach and then the green ocean. Behind me, the sun was catching the water on the leaves of the forest trees.

And on other evenings on the island, there was that curious moment, as though the world were taking a rest, where the wind switches from a sea breeze to a land breeze. For what is really the briefest of instances, there is no sound of wind, and even the waves seem quieter. And then, as the wind came down from the mountain, through the forest, the forest sounds were carried to us and the night world began to come to life.

On that island, the sea breeze in the evening carries a curious smell of harbours and of rotting fish. The coral is revealed by the retreating tide: a strange world of miniature gardens. Beautiful under the sea, the coral is alive through the movement of the waves, and the myriad of fish passing by or lingering. As the sea retreats, only the crabs are left and weird crustaceans that look something like a hairbrush and bury into the sand when disturbed. In the deeper pools there are small fish, and large crabs. In some places, beached jellyfish lie, menacing by their proximity, but pathetic in their immobility and loss of colour and transparency. The coral smells too - powerfully, of fish markets, and rotting insects.

One evening there was the most fantastic sunset: a photographer�s dream. Facing East, we saw the brilliant reflection of oranges, reds, deep purples and greens against a backdrop of wind-driven clouds. The waves bore the reflection of that cloud-reflected sunset in to our feet on ripples. The coral, in its oranges, browns and greens was a still sculpture against the waves. The sand of the beach, more a continuum of the sea: gold and silver ripples, translucent almost, as the surface water reflected the brilliant sky back up to the heavens.

We must have been lucky, for every evening there was a sunset, and yet we stayed on the Eastern beach. Something to do with the summer storms, racing in towards us from the mainland. The clouds on the Eastern side caught the reflection of the sunset to the West, perhaps less brilliantly than to the West, but that was hidden from our view by the hills in the centre of the island.

In the afternoons we took to walking towards the centre of the island, if it wasn�t too hot and oppressive with an impending storm. The forest was darkly tempting. The light in open areas breathtaking. Shafts of sunlight penetrated the upper canopy over a small stream; murky and leaf-stained, not particularly appealing and home to the largest forest mosquitoes I have ever seen. There were crabs there too. A small, bright-red hermit crab with a snail shell for its home scuttled away from me. I trapped it and took a photograph - close-up - and then set it free.

There was a splendid palm with bright new leaves emerging above its older, darker foliage. The new leaves caught the sun like a verdant crown.