Ahead of The Wave, Scotland's biggest demonstration demanding action on climate change, Oxfam Scotland's Aideen McLaughlin reports from Thailand on how villagers living in coastal areas are coping with the advancing sea.

Perched on the edge of the Gulf of Thailand just one hour south of Bangkok, the Khum Samut Chin Temple stands guard over its local village, physically and spiritually protecting it from the rising water.

Open to the elements and marooned up to its waist at high tide, the Temple is the area's last bastion in a long and hard fight against the climate.

Thai climate experts say 600 km of the Thai coastline has already been lost due to climate change, with the Gulf suffering the worst rate of coastal erosion in the country. The Khun Smut Chin village has been robbed of 1km of land already, with houses, schools and health centres swallowed by the tide.

Looking out to sea from the raised rickety bridge that links the Temple to the land, I can see some evidence of what once was this village. Most of it is buried deep, with only the very tallest visible above the waterline. Water tanks, which sat atop rooves of houses to collect rainwater, peep out, with two metres of tank sunk below the surface. The most significant signs of life are the telegraph poles, which once marked the road through the village, rising like giants out of the water.

"It's like they walked into the sea," the village headwoman, Samorn Kendsamut tells me.

According to Samorn, who was born in the village, all the houses used to be located in front of the Temple. Each home had three to four acres of land around it. People lived simply but adequately off their patch and from the sea, fishing and farming shrimp. But with more extreme and unpredictable weather events, contributing to increased wave power and sea level rise (the past twenty years, the monsoon waves have doubled in size) all that has changed.

Samorn says: "Life is hard. Most people here have had to move ten or 11 times because their houses have been destroyed. Now there is nowhere for us to move to. We cannot plan a thing, but the storm takes it away. We now only have 30 per cent of the fish we used to have. The shrimp farming has all but disappeared and everybody is bankrupt. Occupations have had to change and it is a struggle to survive. It has taken its toll on us."

Climate change hits poor people first and worse, those least responsible for the emissions causing climate change and with the least resources to cope. And nowhere is this more evident than here in Khun Samut Chin.

The village now consists of about 100 families, half of its previous population. When I visit, in the middle monsoon season, the rain is relentless and we are reduced to walking bare foot as no shoes can master the slippery quagmire below. Sleep was hard to be had in my stilted bamboo hut, as the water swirled below me and the lightning storm flashed through the holes for windows, waking me up to the realities of the climate.

All the villagers live behind the Temple now, their current houses floating in a sea of debris, the flotsam and jetsam of their previous lives. Everywhere, the smell of stagnant water pervades.

The school is now in its third location, the children's playground a sodden mudflat. People get around by boat or on foot on manmade causeways, their resilience and resourcefulness evident in their reluctance to give in and in the way they have adapted their lives to cope.

Their perseverance is echoed by the monks, who look after the Temple. Abbot Somnuek Athipanyo, the chief Monk, says: "When I first came here the villagers asked me to take charge of this temple. I won't leave, because going inland means that people won't know what's happening here. If we move the temple, the fight is over."

Over the years, many barriers have been installed in an attempt to keep the sea at bay, but none have been successful.

But hope is now in sight in the form of Dr Thanawat Jarupongsakul, a climate expert and professor from Chulalongkom University in Bangkok. Dr Thanawat and his team have developed an offshore barrier system, made up of 250 metres of permeable, shock-proof concrete poles anchored 500m offshore.

The barrier's purpose is to minimise the power of the waves before they hit home. Since its installation two years' ago, Dr Thanawat has been testing and monitoring its impact.

According to his research, wave power has decreased 60-80 per cent and the village is gaining 1-3cm of land per month. Mangrove is growing again, which is acting as a natural barrier to protect the land from erosion, and sea life is returning. With it, the village is experiencing a renewed sense of hope.

Samorn says: "When I look out to sea, to where things used to be, the image is very vivid. Now, that's all gone, but that makes me want to work harder to preserve what is left."

Let's hope world leaders meeting in December at the UN climate talks in Copenhagen are prepared to work half as hard to secure a fair and binding deal that will save Samorn and those like her from runaway climate change.

See BBC iPlayer for report on Newsnight Scotland.