Sarah and I were on Ko Lanta, an island just off the west coast of Thailand. Ko Lanta is shaped something like a crocodile laying low in the water. At the north end it's flat, and as you head south a spiny backbone of mountains rises up higher and higher along the center. Beaches circle the entire island in long flat stretches at the north and small hidden coves tucked against the mountains to the south. None of the island is densely populated. So far it has been spared the tin hut plague of Ko Phi Phi. Other than a small line of resorts along its northern-most beach, Ko Lanta is just empty red clay roads and the occassional cluster of bungalows set in the shade of palms.

We stepped off the ferry from PP and took a 25 minute pickup truck ride to Coral Beach Resort, about halfway down the island. Coral Beach was a small, family-run affair. Twenty little one-room huts were set just off a beach. Each had a bed, a fan, and a bathroom with a cold water shower. A small open-walled restaurant was a short walk up on a rocky point, and a hut on the beach served as the bar in the evenings. It was quiet. Unpretentious. No phones or televisions or Internet. Occasionally, no electricity.

We rented a motorbike for a few hours to tour the island. Left lane left lane left lane. For a moment we considered upgrading to a ritzier place on the busier north part of the island, but as we bounced back to Coral Beach along the dirt road we realized that its sleepy remoteness was just what we were looking for. We knew we had made the right choice when -- near sunset -- we took a ten minute walk along the road and then dropped down a path through the jungle to find ourselves at our very own, picture-perfect, private beach. It was just us and a horizon of water so big it curved at the edges like we were looking at it through a fish-eye lens. We took a long swim, more of a float really, and watched the red sun drop off the edge of the Earth.

There's not a whole lote more to say. When you are looking for peace and quiet I guess you know you've succeeded when five days go by and your list of accomplishments goes something like: "Eat, nap, beach. Eat, nap, beach."

Come to think of it, we did have one day of activity. Yesterday, Christmas Eve, we chartered a longtail for a day-long tour of the surrounding islands. Our boat took us south to the tip of Ko Lanta, then crossed an open channel to Ko Hai, where we snorkeled over a relatively pristine coral reef.

Our next stop was Ko Muk, a cliffy island even further south. In fact, this was our furthest-south-but-still-north-of-the-equator point for our whole trip, at roughly 7 degrees North. The captain dropped anchor in a small bay, then motioned for us to put on our life jackets. We jumped into the water and swam towards the shore, which in this bay was a steep dark cliff rising several hundred feet straight up. As we neared the cliff we saw a small opening, a cave.

The tide was high, so our heads nearly touched the ceiling when we followed our captain inside. Just inside the entrance the sun lit up the water brilliant green, like a swimming pool lit from below, but then we swam around a bend and it was pitch black. Captain turned on a flashlight that didn't seem to cast any light, but at least it gave us a beacon to follow as we swam ahead into the dark. It was an odd feeling swimming in that pitch black, probably the closest I'll ever get to total sensory depravation. Within a few minutes we reached the other end of the cave, which we learned was actually a tunnel. The total swim was probably just 80 to 100 yards, but it's hard to say for sure.

We emerged from the cave into bright sunlight, and for a moment we hardly believed what we saw. Our swim had brought us inside the island, where a tiny lagoon lay against a perfect little beach. Completely encircling us was a towering chimney of jungle hundreds of feet tall. Straight up, way above, was a small circle of blue sky. It was framed in dripping green vines that clung to the steep stone cliffs. It was like a reverse Devil's Tower, shrowded in foliage. We mainly just sat there on the beach with big grins on our faces, but we made ourselves take some pictures even though we knew they wouldn't do the place justice, and then we swam through the dark cave back to our boat.

We stopped for a few hours at another isolated beach, two or three kilometers of perfect white sand and overhanging palm trees. Midwestern Protestants like myself are genetically programmed to distrust such earthly paradises, but try as I might I couldn't find anything wrong with it. It was perfect in every way. And you know what? I'm not going to tell you the name of the island, because I might go back there some day and I don't want you running all over the place!

Evening was coming -- Christmas Eve, Sarah and I had to keep reminding each other -- so we got back in the boat for the ride home.

We struck out across the open water, Ko Lanta looming just ahead, though it would take an hour or so to get there in our puttering longtail. All travelers in southern Thailand have a sort of love/hate relationship with longtail boats. They are long wooden boats with a prow that rises up in front like a Viking warship. Like the Laotian speedboat they have a large exposed motor in back with a 12 or 15 foot rod extending straight back to the propeller. Thus the name.

They are used for fishing, for ferrying passengers, for moving cargo. Longtails are an icon of these waters, and you can't look at them without feeling a dash of exotic romanticism. Unfortunately, they are also louder than a Mark-Twain-era locomotive, they are tippy and uncomfortable, and as we soon discovered, they are apt to break down in inconvenient locations.

We were about halfway across the open stretch when the motor quit. This wasn't unusual in itself, but it was odd that our captain couldn't get it restarted in about fifteen minutes of furious cranking (this one started with a crank like an old Model T). Next, he tried banging on parts of it with a metal wrench, and then did some unscrewing and prying motions, which would have been OK except that he kept accidentally flipping what I assumed were vital peices of the engine over the side of the boat, where they sank out of site. None of that worked, so he changed tactics and started pouring gas over the engine. He wasn't filling the tank or anything, just pouring huge quantaties of gas over the engine. Big cascading waves of petrol sloshed into the water and, worse, into our boat. Now we were a fire hazard as well.

Eventually, another boat came along and threw us a tow line. We made it home safe and sound for Christmas Eve.

Our Muslim hosts threw a nice Christmas Even party. First came a spread of fresh seafood and Thai dishes, then fireworks and star gazing on the beach. I ordered a big drink that was served in a fresh pineapple and christened with a real orchid. An added bonus of the tropical setting here is that you can actually drink a drink like that without feeling like an idiot. At least I can.