Wake up, get tangled in the artfully draped mosquito net and stumble off for a last swim. Pondering on a travel piece I wrote years ago, I remember an editor suggesting that I tone it down. “It’s not the bloody Taj Mahal,” she’d said. In this pristine setting though, it’s hard not to wax a little lyrical. The people are genuinely friendly, the shallows truly turquoise, and the palms, well, frondy. It’s a place to be Energizer-bunny busy, or marvel at a million stars with your feet in the ocean.