WE are anchored about a mile up Spanish Water in a small cove lined with orange cliffs streaked with black. Below lie desiduous scrub trees and cacti, becoming mangroves at the turquiose water’s edge. The sounds of birdsong fill the air as yellow, green and turquoise parrots flit from branch to branch. Thirty feet off our port bow, reef fish glide amongst the coral heads. The sun is warm but the water and breeze are cool, and – critically – the air is DRY. Sweat actually evaporates.

We are both in awe. We had no idea what Curacao would be like, but this is beyond our wildest expectations.