Seychelles: Life in slow oceans
Island-hopping here is so chilled, stay long enough and you may end up walking about in your underwear too, writes Katharine Child
AGOLDEN-HAIRED mutt is the first to greet me as I step off the boat onto the tiny granite-and tree-filled Moyenne island in Seychelles. Yellow is his name and when he is not wagging his tail at tourists he can be spotted chasing fish in the surf or having a quick roll in the wet sand.
I think he must be the happiest dog in the world, king of his very own tropical island.
A few years ago, Moyenne and Yellow were owned by an ordinary Yorkshireman who had gone island-hunting in search of the perfect Crusoe-esque hideaway.
Brendon Grimshaw, a former journalist who was clearly better at retrenchment planning than most journos I have met, had a childhood dream of retiring in the tropics.
So Grimshaw did what only sheikhs, oil barons and movie stars can do today: bought his own island in 1962. The story goes he got it for less than £10 000. He moved there in 1970. Back then, Moyenne had no running water, no fruit trees or shelter and Grimshaw and a friend spent years of back-breaking labour to make it habitable: pumping water up the hill and planting thousands of fruit trees to welcome countless bird species to the island.
He would row in a small boat to the mainland to fetch supplies once a week.
Before he died in 2012, Grimshaw insisted the island, unlike most others in the Seychelles, be kept hotel-free and open to day tourists, who pay a minimal fee.
In Mahé, the archipelago’s most populated island, I hopped on a boat for the short ride to this palm-covered granite outcrop, now a national park.
En route, though, there was time for a quick stop at the St Anne National Marine Park.
Here, the water is clear and even the tourists who can’t swim get their fill of the snorkelling. They don life jackets and awkwardly stick their heads into the water to stare at the shoals of colourful fish filling the sea.
In a kitsch and touristy move, the tour guides on the boat feed the fish bread
crumbs. It sends the expectant fish into a frenzy. I can feel them touch my skin as I swim into hundreds of hyperactive fish chasing morsels of bread.
The snorkelling is so incredible and so easy to do … it is hard to get back into the boat.
On Moyenne, Yellow greets us as we traipse up the stairs to see perhaps the island’s most famous residents… some of the only giant tortoises in Seychelles that are free and unencumbered by small cages.
Seychelles giant tortoises can weigh up to 250kg and live to more than 150 years old. Grimshaw, according to archived newspaper reports on display on the island, introduced them here when they were tiny.
The tourists ignore the “Don’t feed the tortoises” sign and snap selfies as they rest their heads on the giant shells.
Our guide, Ralph Henry, tells me he remembers Grimshaw walking around “in thongs”.
But hey, this is the Seychelles. Stay long enough and you too might be walking around in your underwear, letting it all hang free under the palm trees.
I spent two months before the trip worrying about having to wear a swimming costume on the beach — I even considered not going.
Turns out, you don’t need a bikini body. It’s so relaxed. Even the local people can be laid back and indifferent to tourists. The indifference has a pleasant charm, giving tourists much-needed privacy.
Europeans in general are pretty relaxed there and apparently had a habit of going nude on the beaches.
“They would be balls and all,” explains our tour guide and driver Nicholas Lucas, unimpressed.
The Europeans may have been asked to follow beach rules and cover up a little, but there are so many beaches on the main three islands it’s easy to find a secluded beach and pretend you are Richard Branson (or Grimshaw) and that you own your very own private island.
My favourite rule in the Seychelles is that no hotel can reserve the beach in front of their prime real estate. Every beach is for everyone.
One night we stay in a guesthouse on the hilltops of Mahé, staring miles down to the sea. The owners encourage their visitors to walk across the road to the pricier hotel and ask to be let in to the property to walk down the hill and onto the beach.
“The Seychelles is Mauritius 15 years ago,” explains Mauritian-born sales manager Ian Sindoyal, who works at Constance Ephelia, one of the more upmarket resorts on Mahé.
Seychelles is still unspoilt yet it is developed enough to offer luxury. And it’s clean. From early in the morning, street sweepers are visible on Mahé — pushing aside leaves from the endless trees.
Mahé is hilly with its twisting mountain roads and mountainous forest. It is great for hiking or cycling, but if you are lazy like me, just catch a ride to the top of the mountains, sit down and gaze out at the surrounding islands below.
The busiest beach on Mahé is Beau Vallon, full of South Africans with their distinct accents. Here, we discover we can hire snorkelling gear for only $5 from a friendly British lady and a Seychellois so laid back he barely acknowledges us when we return the gear.
It’s so easy to walk only metres out to snorkel and there are so many mesmerising fish — I am sunburnt for a week afterwards but the surgeonfish, angel fish and eels were worth the cancer risk.
Snorkelling in the Seychelles is like wading into a National Geographic documentary.
One day we catch a brief ferry ride from Mahé to the island of Praslin, home to several luxury hotels. We visit Anse Lazio, once voted the world’s most beautiful beach. It is uncrowded and breathtaking. Just out to sea is Curieuse island, home to more giant tortoises.
On Anse Lazio, a guide tells us a story as he tries to spot red freshwater crabs so we can snap a photo. About a year ago, a group of crab-loving tourists visited Praslin and caught some of the crabs and boiled them in their hotel kettles to eat.
This left the hotel owner with no choice but to chuck out every kettle because the fishy smell lingered.
We catch a private charter flight from Praslin back to Mahé, a worthwhile 15 minutes. Below, I can see turquoise water and green outcrops.
It looks like a Photoshopped brochure — except it’s real.
I am jealous of a small plane of school kids in uniform who arrive on Mahé minutes after we touch down. Flying to school each day must be fun.
Grimshaw apparently visited 50 countries before using his savings to buy Moyenne island. After seeing the world, the Seychelles and his little island won.
I am not surprised. — Child was a guest of the Seychelles Tourism Board