The Breadfruit’s Promise

Next morning, I’m up with the sun to hit the beach on Mahe, Seychelles’ largest island and a walk seems the best way to take in the beauty (and build an appetite). Back in the room, a bubble bath with hibiscus and frangipani blossoms awaits. But there’s no time for a soak. I’m soon up in a 20-seater aircraft heading out to Denis, a privately owned island about 30 minutes away.

A word to honeymooners: If you haven’t yet decided where to go, go to Denis. It’s the place—romantic and isolated, but one that doesn’t scrimp on luxury.

Seychelles may be a honeymoon destination, but its people don’t believe in honeymoons. More than 70 per cent of the 80,000-strong population gives marriage a thumbs-down and opts to live in. Ninety per cent are Roman Catholic, the others Anglican and all of them swear by the love-and-let-live theory. Why? Seychelles law provides for the woman regardless of whether she is married or living in; so they ask: Why go through legal hassles? Over a tequila sunrise, I ponder that.

The shadows grow longer. A small motorboat chugs in. The PoA? Head to a bigger vessel and cruise around Denis. The sunset, they tell me, is spectacular. Cloud cover envelopes the sky; no sunset, but the champagne and canapes are spectacular enough.

Dinner time. For those who fancy major fish pickings, you’ve come to the right place: There’s shark, barracuda, jackfish, red snapper, cordonnier, grouper, squid, mussel and octopus. All perked up with a Creole twist.

At Moyenne, well-known as “the island bought by a Brit journalist for £10,000 years ago’’, I walk past the long table.

The white tablecloth just about covers the spindly legs, which seem to be groaning under the weight of the many curries and vegetables. The shark, spiced with saffron, looks interesting. Coupled with the jackfish curry, rice and chilled red wine, it’s one helluva lunch. And I have to admit: Shark’s a taste that can grow on you.

Taken around the island, we stop by to say hello to giant tortoises and someone asks about gris gris, the islands’ version of voodoo, but the islanders don’t open up.

Brendon Grimshaw, the owner of Moyenne, speaks of other things: Pirates and treasure, the tsunami and how lucky the island nation was (two people died, he tells us), fish and forest and how eating the breadfruit ensures that you return to Seychelles. Grimshaw, who’s converted the island into a flora-and-fauna haven, wants to be on Moyenne forever and even shows us the grave he’s marked out for himself.

The locals point out a nearby island. Another resort? The picturesque setting turns out to be a jail where criminals serve out their sentence. No dingy lock-up, no handcuffs. Prisoners are free to roam on the beautiful and secluded island.

Another day. We’re in Victoria, Mahe, one of the smallest capitals in the world. So small that the town—the others are all villages—has just one set of traffic lights. It’s always been paradise, though.

Spotted by the French and then taken over by

the British, Seychelles gained independence in 1976. Today, it has a multi-party political system with a president as the head of state.

In Mahe, a local lets me in on an interesting nugget: There’s one man for every three women here. Interestingly, the archipelago is also home to the coco-de-mer palm. The strange bi-lobed nuts, with the suggestive ‘male and female shapes’, are said to have aphrodisiacal properties. And the female fruit is everywhere, on tees, key chains and ashtrays.

Souvenirs picked up, we amble back to the hotel. There’s more fish and squid and the local beer, Eku (you can try the local brew, baka, if you’re feeling adventurous). Then I’m back on the beach.

An hour of perfect peace later, I make my way back to the hotel. The staff have promised to get me some breadfruit.