Words and pics – Elise Kirsten
On Praslin, unwinding isn’t a conscious act. It just happens. The air is thick with salt and the slow rhythms of island life, as if stress itself has been exiled, carried off by the trade winds to some faraway place. I arrived at dusk, the ferry from Mahé pulling into port under a bruised sky, the water reflecting the last gold streaks of the sun. Daniel, my taxi driver, navigated the winding road through towering palms, past the entrance to Vallée de Mai, where ancient coco de mer palms grow in tangled profusion. “I’d never swap my country for yours,” he said, shaking his head as we talked about the weather. He hated the cold. Over the next few days, I’d start to see why — drifting between reefs teeming with life, sinking into the island’s easy hospitality, and realising that, here, paradise isn’t just a postcard promise. It’s real.
Daniel pulled over at Yvon’s Tropical Villa where I’d be staying and pointed to the tree nearby. “See, up there,” he said. “It’s a black parrot. Our national bird.” I got out of the car and stood staring at the bird, endemic to the Seychelles and found almost exclusively on this island. “Oh wow,” I whispered, not realising this would be my only sighting.
I was warmly greeted by Yvon Esther’s daughter, Jaela, and his granddaughter, Gia. Their family-run guest house is footsteps from Grand Ansé Beach and would be my base for the next few days. After settling in, Jaela brought me a home-cooked meal of fragrant fish curry and rice. I ate this on the balcony, enjoying the tropical night air, before returning to the air-conditioned apartment to sleep.
Eager to be back in the water, after scuba diving off Mahé a few days before, I’d signed up for a day of snorkelling around Praslin and its neighbouring islands. The next morning, Liroy Lesperance, owner of Geoli Charters, collected me and the rest of the group from our various nearby hotels. One stop was the Coco de Mer Hotel, which stood out for its gorgeous entrance foyer and a pavilion stretching into the ocean, complete with a rim-flow pool and sunbathing nets suspended above the sea.
A sleek Silvercraft 36 HT powerboat was waiting for us, anchored off the beach. After removing Birkenstocks and flip-flops, our group of 13 waded through the shallows and climbed on board. The skipper, Jamie Vidot, and our guide for the day, Cedrick Dugasse, who introduced himself as Rocco, greeted us warmly and explained the itinerary. Then the engines roared to life, and we were off, cutting across crystalline water, mesmerised by the beauty of it all. At one point, Rocco gestured to a small island on the starboard side. “That’s privately owned by an Italian family,” he said. It struck me how special it was to experience all this beauty without owning a slice of it.
Our first snorkelling stop was Anse Petite Cour, on Praslin’s northern fringe. One by one, we slipped into the warm Indian Ocean’s embrace. Rocco pointed towards a band of coral and called from the deck, “That’s The Aquarium. Swim over and you’ll see why!”
I finned toward the reef, where a school of striped sergeant majors darted around me, and electric-blue damselfish hovered above the coral, scattering as I neared. A Moorish idol cruised elegantly by, and then to my delight, I spotted a parrot fish with cyan-and-yellow scales and distinctive beak-like front teeth.
Back on the boat, the sounds of laughter and reggae music mingled in the air as we sped off once more, sea spray catching the light. I felt immensely content, sitting at the bow with the sun on my skin, salty lips and my hair blowing in the wind.
The tiny island of St Pierre came into view. Composed of fluted, granite pinnacles, topped with swaying palms, it rose from the water like a beacon. The ocean around it shifted from translucent turquoise to gin-clear. It was so transparent that we could see fish schooling beneath the stern. A couple of yachts bobbed nearby. Jamie manoeuvred the boat into the perfect position and Rocco took photos of each of us with this idyllic backdrop.
Our next destination was Curieuse, home to some of the Seychelles’ most famous residents, the endemic, giant Aldabra tortoises. We anchored at Anse José, a wide, tree-lined beach where we had an hour to swim and unwind before a gentle (less than two-kilometre) hike to Baie Laraie, where the tortoise sanctuary was located.
Rocco led us along a gently sloping trail that wound through indigenous forest. Takamaka trees and coco de mer palms shaded the path, and Rocco, ever the entertainer, pointed to a coco de mer palm and said with a grin, “The female is like a bum bum… and the male is like a ding ding.” He was alluding to the shape of the female tree’s large seed, which can weigh up to 20 kilograms and resembles a voluptuous female bottom, and to the male tree’s phallic-shaped catkin, which can grow up to a metre long.
On Praslin, I visited Vallée de Mai, a UNESCO-listed nature reserve, where I got a deeper understanding of this unique species. My guide, Medina Laboudalloniana, greeted me with a bright smile and infectious enthusiasm. Her passion for the island’s biodiversity was inspired by her father, Dr Victorin Laboudalloniana, who played a vital role in protecting Seychelles’ endangered birds, including the Seychelles warbler, paradise flycatcher and the black parrot. “My father worked a lot with the black parrot project. He was the one who had the copyright for the black parrot nests. He built a metal box that was covered, which helped increase the black parrot population.”
As we walked under the dense forest canopy, Medina introduced me to the fragrant “four-spices” tree, so named because its leaves carry the scent of cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, and cloves. “The leaves are used for cooking. They give curries a good flavour,” she said. Then she pointed out a 15-year-old coco de mer palm. “That’s still a juvenile,” she said. “It takes 25 years to reach maturity when we can tell whether it’s a male or female plant. It takes another six or seven years for the seed to ripen. No one is allowed to eat it.” She explained how the seed is technically edible, but it’s protected due to its rarity and slow reproduction cycle.
Back on Curieuse, the hike was gentle, although the sun was hot, and I looked forward to dipping back into the ocean. We made our way across long wooden boardwalks raised above a thick mangrove forest. “The mangrove sediment feeds all sorts of creatures,” said Rocco. “For instance, fiddler crabs dig down and eat the ‘bad’ sediment, making it healthier for other species.”
The path opened up onto a shaded lawn next to the beach at Baie Laraie, full of giant tortoises. Some munched contentedly, while others lounged under the shade. Rocco pointed to one of the prehistoric-looking giants. “The record we have for the longest-living tortoise on the Seychelles is 165 years old, although they can live to around 200 years. Currently on Curieuse, the oldest tortoise, named Captain Morgan, is over 120 years old.” He then explained that we could feed them lady-finger bananas if we wanted. “But keep your fingers clear, as they don’t know the difference.”
Lunch was a relaxed affair of grilled jackfish, rice, salads, and various braaied meats served next to the sea. I chatted to my companions for the day and enjoyed a Seybrew, the local beer, at the water’s edge. The bay is hedged on either side by large granite boulders and palm trees run along its shore. It was a postcard-perfect Seychelles’ setting. As I drank in the scenery, I watched a ghost crab scuttle across the shore, its quick movements a striking contrast to the slow progress of a tortoise that had made its way onto the sand beneath a palm tree.
We ended the day with a snorkelling stop at Anse La Farine. Set in another cove along Praslin’s southeast coast, the bay felt secret. If I could have paused time, I would have. Beneath the surface, two batfish drifted past, their dorsal fins trailing like banners, pipefish hovered above, and sergeant majors shimmered in the light. Each glimpse felt like a gift.
Back aboard, Rocco and Jamie passed around blue plastic cups filled with local, Takamaka rum and orange juice. The afternoon sun was warming, but without the midday intensity, the ocean shimmered in layers of turquoise and sapphire, and music floated into the warm air. I’ve never enjoyed a rum cocktail more.
Essentials:
Getting there:
Air Seychelles flies from Cape Town and Johannesburg to Mahé. From Mahé, get a connecting flight to Praslin, or take a ferry. Air Seychelles also offers direct flights from Johannesburg to Praslin.
What to do:
On Praslin: Play golf at Constance Lemuria, the only 18-hole championship golf course in the Seychelles. Visit Vallée de Mai nature reserve. Take a boat trip to Visit St Pierre and Curieuse Islands or to the island of La Digue (home to Anse Source d’Argent, often described as the world’s most beautiful beach).
On Mahé: Visit Takama Rum distillery for a fun-filled and informative tour. For a glimpse into local life, visit the Sir Selwyn Selwyn-Clarke fresh produce market in the Seychelles’ tiny capital city, Victoria. Eat at Marie Antoinette’s, also in Victoria. Go scuba diving with Big Blue Divers and visit Beau Vallon Beach.
