‘I can’t snorkel to save myself,’ you say, wriggling into your bathers. Rudi tugs on board shorts. ‘You’ll be fine. You’ll love it.’ He smears on sunscreen and steers you out of the pandan-thatched bungalow. Past your plunge pool, under the frangipani, through gardens giddy with crotons. At the villa gate you mount rusty bicycles.