Phulay Bay, a Ritz-Carlton Reserve

Like the portals to a forgotten empire, two imposing doors open gradually to reveal Phulay Bay’s regal courtyard enclosed by 30-foot walls. Half expecting to be greeted by a burly, sabre-wielding gatekeeper, we’re relieved to be met by beaming smiles and refreshing herb-infused cocktails.

After winding through a palm-fringed corridor, we cross an expansive water feature, padding over limestone stepping-stones. At each foot-fall a gong sounds out our arrival. Mrs Smith loves the theatrics and puts on a suitably majestic air.

The charismatic Song, our personal butler, whisks us away in a golf buggy to check in at our Reserve Pavilion, whizzing past cascading streams and verdant gardens bulging with mangosteen trees. A wooden bridge, over a bubbling waterway, leads to our new home on stilts. Song slides the huge glass door open to show off the four-metre-long bed (the biggest I’ve ever seen!). While we relax in our jasmine-perfumed room, Song offers us a snack of tastebud-tingling miang kum – fresh green betel leaves topped with sweet chutney and roasted peanuts, salty dried shrimp and coconut. Having armed us with her direct dial number, in case we need anything, she sets off to arrange a free long-tail boat trip for us.

Left alone, we regress to overexcited children. Mrs Smith tackles me onto the boxing ring-sized bed before rolling off the edge and disappearing outside to explore the two spacious L-shaped verandas.

Scale and imperial luxury are the defining traits of the villa, designed by in-demand Thai architect Lek Bunnag. Enormous spear-shaped lights create golden hues that bounce off the opulent mirrors. Think Middle Eastern grandeur with nods to Thai style. The outdoor triangular soft furnishings continue the ‘Arabian nights’ feel. Even the central freestanding bath is a head-turner, cast from polished resin imbedded with sparkling grains.

Two flower-shaped basins overlook a glittering outdoor sunken bath, and elsewhere two showers create a ‘rainforest cascade.' Mrs Smith has affected a Queen of Persia pose on the bed, plucking chocolates from a tray. We're in agreement: we love the attention to detail, from the bath crystals that dissolve to release rose petals to the smartly placed Sony TV that allows lazy bedside viewing. We discover an invitation to complimentary cocktails at Chomtawen Bar for the evening. I catch Mrs Smith’s eye – it's a date.

Strolling through the grounds I recall that the delicious betel leaves we tasted earlier grow wild along the path. I grab a familiar looking bunch of greens and start munching. The acrid taste tells me these ones aren’t edible. ‘Come on Bear Grylls!’ snorts Mrs Smith, as I cough and splutter.

We pop into the calm, sanctum of the spa, where Mrs Smith books a bunch of exotic treatments. My meanderings take me past a huge subterranean gym and up to a vast coast-hugging swimming pool wrapped around a pool bar and informal restaurant. The local beach may not be spectacular but it’s a short trip to an adjacent, more impressive strand by free long-tail boat or kayak.

Hovering, having been massaged into a state of bliss, Mrs Smith joins me by the pool. I’m almost frustrated not to have any bad news, as now would be the time to break it to her. When we return to our luxurious abode in the late afternoon, the space has been artfully transformed into an after-dark retreat. Mirrors have been turned to expose panels of Lanna-inspired art and curtains drawn to create a cosy intimacy. We take in the breathtaking pink sky from our balcony and stare at the jaw-dropping karst towers that rise dramatically from the sea.

Invigorated, we head to the beach to soak up the sunset and enjoy a cocktail at the sociable bar. This isn’t a place of whispering couples – it has life to it, without being intrusive. Tonight’s sunset is exceptional, with the limestone karsts splintering it second by second.

Watching the slow-motion explosion from the bar, we discover the cocktails are equally spectacular – lychee, pineapple and coconut dosed with cinnamon rum. I have the coriander mojito; the bartender spent six months getting it right and his patience paid off.

So far Phulay Bay hasn’t put a foot wrong. I’ve been carefully monitoring Mrs Smith’s eyebrows, as they are the barometer – if raised, there is no higher accolade; if frowning, a suggested improvement is never far behind. Until now they’ve been set in a semi-permanent arched state. I ask Song about the resort’s three restaurants; Thai, seafood and international. Each menu is redesigned every 10 days and each location offers a different experience so you never get bored.

As big fans of fish, the seafood restaurant gets our vote on the first night, where we order the cream of artichoke soup poured over a quivering hill-fort of fresh seafood and buttery mango. Mrs Smith’s eyes are closed in pleasure. For the main, we share crispy-skinned seabass on a crunchy bed of veg infused with Thai spices and a plate of sushi and sashimi – both faultless. All three restaurants offer dishes that are thoughtfully presented without being fussy and the super-fresh produce always takes centre stage.

Stuffed with breakfast the next morning, we set off on a long-tail boat to the tiny, local island of Hong. It's truly gorgeous, and consequently attracts lots of tourists, but our helpful skipper points out a secret path to a secluded white-sand beach.

To make a haven as good as Phulay Bay, a Ritz-Carlton Reserve requires the constant attention of enough people to run a small country, although if they were responsible for governing somewhere, I reckon it would be the most harmoniously run nation on earth. The hotel is so impactful that in retrospect it selfishly gobbles up the capacity of your memories. We visited many places in Thailand, yet only one made a lasting impression. Phulay Bay.