Our second day trip is to Ao Phang Nga Bay in the Gulf of Thailand, famous for its hundreds of tall, steep-sloped islands. We didn't take the usual large scale tourist trip to see the one used as Scaramanga's lair in the Bond film, but a boat taking 20 to canoe into the hongs, beautiful tropical lagoons hidden within some islands, completely surrounded by limestone crags and only reachable by air or a narrow tunnel through the rock where the sea has eroded right through a cavern in the rock wall just like in Alex Garland's book, The Beach. We decided against paddling our own canoe as past attempts had seen us going around in circles or me enmeshed in mangrove trees and usually ended in mutual recrimination and sulks. Each inflatable canoe, like a giant banana takes 1-3 passengers and a guide to paddle. The sea is calm, clear and blue, the islands' steep sides partially wooded white, pink and grey limestone with odd projections like open air stalactites on each of which some cactus, bush or tree perches, roots wrapped around the rock, with a rocky overhang 2-3 metres above the sea, where the base of the island was eroded thousands of years ago when the sea level was higher. The entrance to the lagoon is hidden under the overhang along with many other blind ending caves and would be impossible to find without a local guide. They can only be entered if the tide is not too high, filling them with water, and not too low. As we approach the rock face it is hard to imagine how we will fit under such a narrow gap and indeed the tunnel roof is at points so low we have to lie flat on our backs in the canoe, rock pock-marked by long-lost embedded seashells inches from our face in the dim torch light. We enter three hongs, some tunnels have larger caverns with stalactites showing they were once caves on the ocean floor, one with the acrid smell and squeaks of bats which thankfully we couldnt see in the dark and another with monkeys scampering on the rocks at its mouth. In the second the water level is high, we see the canoe ahead squeeze thru a slit beneath the rock, pushed thru by the guide swimming in the water, but even lying flat I can feel my legs are wedged in and scraping the rock ceiling. Our guide Calypso lets air out of the canoe, the central section sinks and fills with water and the side sections squeeze me as we try to get thru the narrow gap. It is hard to hear Calypso's instructions from the water behind the canoe and I scrape my foot moving it the wrong way. The guide in front pulls, Calypso pushes, I would breathe in if I had the space, the rubber sides screech along the rock and suddenly there is sunlight, a beautiful lagoon and I feel this is the closest I will get to knowing how it felt to be born.

Unfortunately a vital valve was lost in the struggle, we are collapsing and taking in water and he cannot reinflate the canoe, so we each scramble on to one of the other 2 canoes to make it thru for the rest of the trip. By the time we leave the tide is falling and there is enough space to get thru without incident. Poor Calypso is mortified by the loss of face and mocked by his colleagues as he clings to the remains of our canoe and swims back to the boat.

After another mega Thai buffet on the boat we spent the afternoon on a perfect soft yellow sand beach and swam in the shallow clear water with views of surrounding islands, idyllic until one guide tells us to be careful where we put our feet as there are poisonous sea urchins and then the jellyfish start to sting, first my leg, quite painful, but Martin is unimpressed with my complaints til one scores a whopper on his arm. That night he is in a lot of pain, I google jellyfish stings and decide he would be dead by now if it was harmful, too late we learn we should have used vinegar, not showered in fresh water or rubbed cream in as it released more venom and increased the pain. Thankfully it eases enough with paracetamol and brufen for him to sleep. I did not emerge unscathed having stubbed my toe getting back into the boat to leave. It is painful, swollen and won't bend any more. I tell Martin I think it may be broken. It's just a bruise he poo poos. By the morning there is a purple grape where my left little toe used to be. It may be broken he says. You don't say.

Thankfully the next day is a day of rest by the pool and beach and we recuperate with another massage. My masseur is suitably sympathetic about my toe and rubs a strange salve into it which burns for a while, but whether by pharmacy or bedside manner, it was never as painful again afterwards even though it is still a purple grape.