The image is hypnotic. And now I have found it for real - in Thailand, on Koh Samui, an island in the Gulf of Thailand just 90 minutes by air from Bangkok and across the southern peninsula from the better-known, more commercialized Phuket. Based on a Thai colleague's recommendation, I went to The Tongsai Bay, an eco-friendly colony of cottages and low buildings barely displacing the lush greenery on the hills of the island's northeast corner.
Koh Samui (Koh means island in Thai) is roughly the size of Martha's Vineyard, with a thick ridge of mountains marching across its core and dozens of miles of beaches orbiting the coast. Above it all, a crown of coconut palms. Once a backpacker's secret with cheap beachfront digs, Samui now draws nearly a million tourists a year, mostly Europeans, to scores of hotels, resorts and restaurants. If nonstop seashore and hot, sunny days are not enough, you can disco till dawn, go snorkeling or kayaking, ride an elephant to a waterfall, get a custom-fit silk dress or climb the steps to a four-story-high statue of Buddha. Or so I heard. I saw almost none of this except Big Buddha - impossible to miss during the 15-minute drive from the airport - because from the moment I arrived inside the gate of the secluded, botanically blessed resort, I never left Tongsai Bay's grounds.
In a nation whose entire culture seems to tease the senses, this 25-acre haven has tamed the best of nature. In the open-air lobby, shaped like a giant tent, I felt the brush of a warm breeze and inhaled the fragrance of sweet flowers. A chirping chorus of yellow-breasted birds flitted about. The welcome drink was a tangy surprise: a rosy concoction of dried chrysanthemum, roselle (a kind of hibiscus) and pandanus leaves, with lime juice and other exotic ingredients. I felt soothed and energized all at once. And instantly headed for the water.The main pool, the social heart of the resort, is filled with seawater, half a football field long and shaped like a figure eight with a teak bridge bisecting its center and crushed blue rocks lining its floor. The sides of the pool slope down gradually, so entering the water was a slow glide into serenity. Buoyed by the salt and lured by the unusual distance, I churned through the water, immersed in azure.
A few hundred yards away, hidden behind a hill and dug into a cliff, is the second pool, a freshwater rectangle with a vanishing edge that makes it seem suspended above the sea. The illusion is enhanced by the way the rim slices objects in the distance: I saw sails but not boats in the gulf; tops but not trunks of palms; heads but not bodies of people walking by.
This pool is smaller (25 meters) and the mood decidedly more serious. Signs request "quietness" and no diving, please. The surface looked like glass and the water felt like liquid silk.
And then there was the ocean: a 650-foot crescent beyond a gently curving beach, billed as the only such private hotel coastline on all of Samui. The water was choppy on my first day but perfectly swimmable the rest, especially once I realized that the coarse sand floor drops off quickly and plunges you directly into the brine.
Each day I got lost in the aquamarine worlds, spending nearly an hour per swim beneath radiant blue skies. Although the hotel had plenty of guests and I was traveling with a friend, I nearly always swam alone. Once I shared the freshwater pool with a Japanese family and their two enchanting children; once a young couple from England hung out beneath the bridge of the saltwater pool, drifting aside as I passed by. A few swimmers joined me in the surf. But most of the guests seemed to prefer the lounge chairs, cushioned chaises beneath canvas umbrellas with a little holder for the flag. Wave it, and a waiter comes by to bring you drinks, food, or towels. Nature may rule the senses at Tongsai Bay, but the superb staff takes care of everything else.
Meals were equally impressive. At the elaborate breakfast buffet in the main dining room, attached to the lobby and overlooking the ocean, I bypassed the trays of mango, papaya and pineapple to feast on pomelo, a giant ancestor of our grapefruit that tastes sweeter and has more texture. Lunch was at the beach, in the pavilion called Floyd's Beach Bistro, where salads and burgers were heated up with Thai spices. And after drinks at the alfresco bar (the piña coladas and other tropical potions were blissfully free of paper umbrellas) dinner was available at three locations.
The indulgence never stopped. Tucked among the bungalows in a huddle of cottages is the independently operated Prana Spa, with a sumptuous assortment of rubs, treatments and herbal potions. I got hooked on the entryway, a "walk on water" atop carved concrete stepping stones that makes you believe you are crossing into a fairy tale. Then I signed up for a Thai massage and a head and neck version, both delivered in a masterly way by small, silent women. So complete was the comfort, I never turned on the TV in my room and even rarely took advantage of the Internet connection at the beachside computers!
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