Later, as I climbed to the crow's nest, my biggest worry was not the vertiginous rope ladder but whether my cellulite was visible to the onlookers below. I hauled up the mizzen staysail (with help) and, as sure-footed as a toddler, clambered onto the bowsprit netting - to do a bit of sunbathing.

Fortunately, this was not one of those "join the crew" sailing holidays, where you don't get any rations unless you swab decks and heartily heave ropes all day. Raising the sails was nothing more than a photo opportunity and the only time I was in serious danger of pulling a muscle was when I twisted round to put a little more suncream on my back.

It's a very emotional experience, sailing in a tall ship and Star Flyer is very tall indeed. With four masts, topping 226 feet, Flyer and her twin sister Star Clipper, are the tallest true clippers ever built. Mikael Krafft, a 58-year-old Swede, built them and their big sister, Royal Clipper, a dozen years ago, fulfilling his dream of bringing clipper sailing to the modern traveller.

Star Flyer holds 170 passengers, 70 crew and a parrot. Krafft insists there is one on each ship. Ours was called Celeste and was a shameless flirt, strolling seductively up the arms of the male passengers and ignoring all the women. We were a thoroughly cosmopolitan ship, with passengers from nine nations. The urbane Ukrainian captain, Yuri Kushenko, obviously in love with his ship, had a crew drawn from 24 countries, but communication didn't seem to be a problem for anyone, least of all in the tropical bar, after dinner, where the crew provided homegrown entertainment. Everything drew riotous applause, from the inspired dance moves of Fabian, the Swedish watersport instructor, to Thai bar manager Ramon's unforgettable My Way.

The days' events and revelries were benignly supervised by cruise director Peter Kissner, nine years on Star Flyer, whose nightly talks on maritime history made him the man with all the answers.

Open seating and casually cool dress was the rule in the dining room, where single travellers knew that there would be no shortage of invitations, should they wish for some company.

At dusk, each day, everyone gathered on deck for the ritual of departure to the musical accompaniment of Vangelis's soaring film score for 1492: Conquest of Paradise. The first time it happened, as we left Phuket, still weary from our long flight, we all found it rather moving. By day four, however, everyone had begun to draw up lists of other possible sailing soundtracks to send to Mikael Krafft. Handel's Water Music? Vaughan Williams's Sea Symphony? A scot suggested The Skye Boat Song. Anything but Vangelis every night.

Star Flyer sailed the Andaman Sea, north from Phuket, towards the islands of Ko Surin national park where, snorkelling offshore, I gazed at the brightest and most varied coral I have ever seen. Passing Ko Surin Tai, we kept a respectable distance from a village os sea gypsies (Chao Le) who live in stilt houses, shunning the outside world. Star Flyer is the only foreign-flagged ship among Thailand's marine park islands. Thus, we saw no other large ships during our week, just the occasional ferry or fisherman's boats.

A night's sail south and after swimming and snorkelling off an achingly beautiful beach, we climbed to the top of the impressive rock formation on Koh Similan island and looked down on Star Flyer, resting delicately at anchor. The talk that evening, as we sailed away to the inevitable Vangelis, was of the "it can't get any better than this" variety. But it did. We've all dreamt about the perfect desert island but never believed it truly existed. And then Ko Rok Nok appeared on the horizon.

It was the colour of the sea I noticed first - ranging from electric blue near the shore, to rich plum above the coral. The sand was neon-white and circled banyan, wild rubber, cashew and fruit trees. But best of all, no-one was there. No buildings. No other boats. Silence. As our small group stepped ashore, it seemed that if there is such a thing as an "appropriate" way to invade the pristine peace of the ultimate desert island, this was it.

The longest overnight sail south brought us to the Malaysian island of Langkawi. It was a splendid day onshore, gliding over the rainforest by cable car and then zipping through the mangrove swamps to a colony of wild sea eagles. The only time we returned to civilisation was on the tourist island of Ko Phi Phi. The crowds, the packed streets and the buzzing of boats in the harbour came as a shock.

Roger Moore is a frequent Flyer guest and, like us, he sailed through Phang Nga Bay, with its dramatic limestone islands, stepping ashore at the place where he'd filmed The Man With The Golden Gun - now known as "James Bond island". No-one recognised him. Probably because they were all looking out to sea: Star Flyer is the superstar around here.