Kouloura is one of those perfect Greek coves, wrapped in sandy rocks that bleach white in the sun, water lit from its very centre to shimmer with an ever changing turquoise blue, dusty mountains of Albania marking a slash across the horizon.

Under the water the weeds collect reef-like near the shore, young fish darting in and out or sitting hovering still above the sand, hoping for invisiblity. The main bay is busy with local families but a track leads over the headland to a quieter shingle bay. Shelving rocks at one end provide a perfect resting spot in between swims. There’s little shade so I spend most of my time in the water, swimming round the headland and looking up at all the twisted trees digging into the crumbling cliffs for purchase, stretching toward the sky, sun-bleached, glorying in it.

I glide into the shallows on the waves, my face down, watching the underwater landscape pass by me, a world unconcerned for my presence. I hover on my back, looking up at the sky, out at the mountains, before striking out to sea again and round to the rockier bay, the bodies on the beach growing tiny.

Afterwards we eat fresh Calamari by a wooden pier flecked with boats, and I fall in love with Corfu a little bit more.

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