Finally we hear an asthmatic wheeze, and the oldest boat in the world, powered by the oldest outboard engine in the world, staggers around the head of the jetty. We wait while he half-heartedly attempts to bail out the two feet of water currently sloshing around in the bottom of his boat with what appears to be the lid of a mineral water bottle. We finally make it to the island and stagger up the half-ruined steps and causeway to find the remains of what once might have been a cafe, now derelict and deserted. Queasiness turns to shock as a large topless Italian lady in a g-string appears out of the palm trees and wobbles towards us, shouting insanely about water and salt being hotter than water on its own. We beat a hasty retreat towards the beach, but not before she has turned her back to us and bent right over, feet away from the crew of the boat and their assorted hangers-on.
Stunned silence prevails.
As we are recovering our composure, sixty more large Italians arrive, leaping and splashing through the water. This is not the deserted film set from The Beach I had imagined. I look entirely Bo Derek-esque, striding out of the water and flicking my braids. Unfortunately, the bottom is covered in stones and I stand on a particularly sharp and pointy one while coming up the beach, staggering inelegantly about, swearing and forgetting to hold my stomach in. I'm sure Bo never had these problems to contend with.