World Traveller November 2019

WEEKENDS
Legend has it that a traveller who
eats from the breadfruit tree
while in the Seychelles is fated to
return to its sandy shores. A melting
pot of people and cultures, it only
seems right that the Creole islands
are brimming with local legends,
myths and folklore. A self-confessed
purveyor of all things mystic, it was
the islands ‘more than meets the
eye’ appeal that lured me, far more
than just its postcard scenes.
First on my numinous pursuit was
unearthing the mysterious coco de
mer, a distinct palm endemic to just
two of the 115 Seychellean islands.
Like something from prehistoric
fiction, the suggestively curvaceous
coconuts looked as if they belonged
in the imagination of a weary sailor
who had been out at sea for a number
of weeks before finally reaching dry
land. Yet here they were growing on
huge palms so tall they seemingly
touched the grey clouds, which were
drooping low, heavy with rain.
“People used to think the coco
de mer trees grew in a forest at the
bottom of the ocean, before the
coconuts fell upwards and washed
up on the beaches around the
Indian Ocean,” Leroy, my tour guide
explained with a wry smile. In the
1600s the huge shells that washed
up on shores were traded around the
Arabian Peninsula for vast sums of
money. Those who found the beached
husks in the Maldives however, were
ordered to hand them over to the
king or face the death penalty. It
wasn’t until British General Charles
Gordon, discovered the uninhabited
Seychelles isles in 1881 that the fate
of the plant was changed forever.
Taking one look at the mysteriously
shaped nut, Gordon declared that
he had found the original forbidden
fruit. Drawing the only plausible
conclusion, of course – that he had
stumbled upon the Garden of Eden.
Gordon’s revelation pleased the
local community and saw the coco
de mer become a protected species,
putting an end to the trading of the
fruit and introducing strict laws. Fast
forward to today and it’s the reason
why I came to be stood in Vallée de
Mai Nature Reserve on Praslin island.
One of the smallest UNESCO sites
in the world, it is fiercely guarded
by beefy security guards who patrol
the grounds to ensure there is no
untoward nut-nabbing, and quite
understandably too as they can
fetch up to $500. (Even if you could
sneak past the guards, I wouldn’t
recommend bagging one, as you
need an export license to get these
hefty nuts out of the country. Not to
mention, with the nuts weighing up
to 30kg, you’ll almost certainly be
over on your baggage allowance.)
Hawk-eyed guards aside, walking
among these ancient trees felt truly
special. Perhaps it had more to do
with my love of a good story than
the enigmatic palms themselves,
but I was almost certain I could feel
a subtle magic in the air here. Was
Gordon onto something after all?
Breaking the spell, I landed back in
the site's gift shop to pricey nuts
and the obligatory tourist tat.
Since Gordon’s discovery, the
African archipelagos have been
penned as ‘paradise on Earth’ and, like
its Indian Ocean counterparts, over
the years it has become synonymous
with honeymooners. The Seychelles,
fitting the seemingly mandatory white
sand beach bill, was the postnuptial
destination of choice of George and
Amal Clooney and the UK’s Duke
and Duchess of Cambridge. While I
Opposite page: Constance
Lemuria beach This page: An aerial
view of Constance Lemuria, Praslin
was on a solo pursuit, if the beaches
were good enough for the A-list, they
were surely good enough for me.
Known for being one of the nicest
stretches of sand in the Seychelles,
Anse Georgette was gothically
moody. The dark green foliage
surrounding the cove swayed
rhythmically in the breeze as the
ocean crashed into the rocks with
a passionate force. Adding a hint
of mystery, an ethereal mist floated
down from the hills, evaporating
as soon as it touched the water.
Somewhat naïve to the powers
of the ocean, I ran straight in as
the clouds broke above me, at last
relenting their pent-up rain with great
catharsis. After a few exhales, the
powerful waves threw me back onto
the shore, to which I abided willingly.
Settling down onto the sand, the
rain began to ease and eventually
the sun peaked through the clouds
in otherworldly defiance. But what
was extra special about this beach
was that, bar myself and a few other
travellers huddled under the trees,
it was completely empty. This was
probably due to the fact that getting
here can be an exercise (involving
a boat and hike). That is unless, like
me, you are staying at Constance
Lemuria, which boasts the beach
as part of its grounds. Having just
105 rooms and employing 402 staff
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