A small boat comes out to greet us, with smalling manager Razak at the helm. You're back, he tells Sandy. Good, good. We head through dazzlingly clear water towards several timber chalets and a sand-floored cafe, where we are served cups of tea by Razak's wife.Time immediately becomes irrelevant. It's as if we have stepped into another zone, one where the burden of urgency and deadlines ceases to exist.

We sit there, chatting, for at least an hour before one of Razak's helpers brings us the register and a choice of rooms -RM50 a night and a chalet with attached bathroom, RM25 without an en suite, RM20 for the treehouse or RM10 for a dorm bed. If you don't like one, just switch to another after a night if there's room, he says. Oh What a glorious way to be. We change, commune with the South Chinese Sea, and lie in hammocks for inordinately long amounts of time, long enough for all existential stresses to drip drip drip into thirstysand.

No phoness, no e-mail to check, no letters to address - just lime juice, the best mee rebus of my life and the calming continuity of the warm waves. We could canoe to the other more populated and lively beaches, or take a water taxi for a few ringgit to get where the action is - beach parties at night, volleyball and cafes galore. But we choose to snorkel and swim for hours with the most wildly coloured and friendly fish I have encountered, a centimetre from my eyes to be precise.

The heat-stricken coral, now showing healthy signs of new life, detracts little from the experience of being in another world, albeit a chummy one. Event the small sharks and large menacing Napoleons are happy to share their homes with us. Above water, so is Razak. On learning that he is without credit card facilities, we voice our fear of having insufficient cash and offer to make a mainland trip to get some. Oh no, he says, just post me the money. An amazing trust and generosity, given that he has no details on us except the city we live in, no phone number, no address, nothing.

A rare treasure, this man, who has ensured that will definitely keep going back to his patch of Perhentian year after turtle-filled year. What I still can't believe, though, is that having lived in Malaysia for 28 years before heading overseas, I have waited so long to swim with turtles. Oh, why didn't someone tell me what bliss it is, just to lie there on the water, waiting for the turtle to come up for air, then rising with it, stroking its back, and flying. yes, it feels like flying, effortlessly, ecstatically, with a true poet of the ocean, taking you to such dizzying heights of excitement, and intimacy.

I am elated. I want to give my turtle name, and wonder if I would recognise it again, and if it would sense that I had returned, like an old pat. Of course not, but that's what happened. Several weeks later, I'm still reliving that enlivening experience, night after night as I slip into Malaysia-filled sleep.