Victoria, Seychelles - I spent a week in the Seychelles towards the end of last year and, when it was time for me to go, they had to pry my fingernails out of a palm tree, bundle me into a taxi and escort me to the airport.
Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but I was pretty reluctant to leave. Yup, much to my surprise, Seychelles did live up to the hype.
Unlike the rich and famous who jet in and languish in exclusive seclusion on one of the many gorgeous little islets, we restricted our stay to the three main islands – Mahe, Praslin and La Digue – and we did not feel at all deprived.
I had a ball on Mahe, and was intrigued by Praslin, but fell totally and completely in love with La Digue.
Mahe is the main island, and it’s where you’ll find the museums, most of the industry and government offices, and the biggest shops. But that sounds boring, and it isn’t.
I loved the capital, Victoria, with its colourful buildings, its bustling market and wonderful restaurants.
Before we’d even got off the plane we were told we just had to eat at Marie Antoinette, so we did. It’s in a gorgeous 100-plus-year-old building, and the Creole cuisine menu hasn’t changed since 1972. How cool is that? And there is awesome snorkelling near Anse Royale, which is also close to a wonderful spice farm.
So much to see, smell, eat and do, and so little time. And then we zipped off to Praslin on the ferry. We spent only a day there, and we spent that whole day admiring the Vallée de Mai world heritage site. You’ve almost certainly seen those pictures of the slightly rude-looking coco de Mai – well, that’s where they grow – in a huge forest with five other endemic palms. And we even got a (fleeting) glimpse of the endemic black parrot.
A photo posted by Fhanany Ivan (@fhanany) on May 3, 2016 at 8:03am PDT
The Vallée de Mai is a beautiful green oasis that, some claim, is the original Garden of Eden. I think it’s possible. And the next day we took another ferry to La Digue, and I fell in love. With an island.
La Digue is a kind of time-warpy place. Until recently there were no cars, and there are still only a few, so we were taken up to our hotel in a golf cart. And then we rented bicycles so we’d blend in. Well, all the locals ride bicycles, but we certainly didn’t blend in because we had insisted on getting a lock and chain with our bicycles.
After our first stop we discovered it didn’t work, anyway, and that none of the hundreds of bicycle owners on La Digue had locks, and neither did the bike-riding tourists. So, we realised this was not Gauteng, and we started to chill. And then we chilled some more. You can’t help it. This place is like beta blockers for the soul.
We rode through a secret forest (maybe not that secret, but we thought it was), ogled some giant tortoises, visited a vanilla, cinnamon and nutmeg farm, and followed the single-track to Anse Source d’Argent – the beach you see on all the Seychelles posters – big pink granite rocks, turquoise lagoon, palm trees. It is pretty but we found it a tad crowded by Seychelles standards.
We had a swim, bought an ice-cold coconut with a hole slashed in the top from the cutest little pop-up juice bar, and then headed off to find lunch and explore the “wilder” side of the island. We found a fabulous restaurant complete with fruity, coco-nutty cocktails, more pop-up juice bars and more fabulous beaches – and the most scenic little coastal road dominated by bicycles. That’s what I really loved, I think. So few cars, so many bicycles. I spent a day there and I think my blood pressure went down 20 points. I need to go back for a week. And maybe that’s what the attraction is, really.
The Seychelles is just such a mellow place. Whether you hide away in an isolated and beautiful spot or immerse yourself in the village culture, there’s no pressure. No hustlers, no pushy taxi drivers, no one trying to change money, sell you drugs or curios, or offer to “guide” you.
The Seychelles has managed to become a major tourist destination without falling victim to tourism’s dark side – exploitation of the local people by tourists, nor exploitation of tourists by the locals. It’s a kind of magic.
Sunday Argus