Hiriketiya, from the hill above it

For years Hiriketiya was the bay the surfers kept quiet: a near-perfect horseshoe of sand and jungle at the end of a lane, too small for hotels and too good to give up. Word spread, as it does, and the bay now carries a handful of cafés, a couple of serious kitchens, board racks, and a crowd that is young, international and gone by dark. The shape of the place has not changed. The palms still lean over the sand, the water is still glass at first light, and the whole bay still fits in one slow look from the hill.

Two waves share the bay. The one in the middle is soft, sandy-bottomed and forgiving, which is why half the people on it are standing up for the first time in their lives. The left off the point is faster and shallower, breaking over reef and rock, and belongs to people who already know what they are doing. Swimmers keep to the inside, where the horseshoe takes the push out of the ocean. Mornings before eight are the bay at its best; by mid-morning in season the lineup fills, and by afternoon the light softens and the day-trippers thin out again.

Walk down before seven with a board or a towel. Surf or swim while the water is glass, then take breakfast at one of the cafés on the sand: a coconut, a curry, good coffee. Retreat up the hill through the heat of the day; the pool and the veranda were built for exactly those hours. Walk down again at five, when the sand has cooled and the light goes gold on the point, and stay for an early dinner or carry appetites home to the chef.

The villa's relationship to Hiriketiya is the whole idea of the place: close enough that the bay is your front garden, high enough that its evenings stay down on the sand. You hear the surf from the pool. You do not hear the bars. Four bedrooms, a chef, and the walk down whenever the water calls.