Seychelles island 2: No compromise on La Digue

So where would you go for your holiday of a lifetime?

For me, I want cultural heritage, fresh and tasty food, an interesting language – the stimulations of a new civilisation.  But I’m also looking to walk and ride through beautiful, unspoiled landscapes, away from the stresses of work, the noise and pollution of cars, the persistent drizzle of our north European  island.

For her, it’s rather more simple: hot sun, clear sea, golden sand. 

Who said it’s women who are complicated?

As we were going to north-east Germany to be married, I hatched a cunning plan:  no need for the expense, stress and pollution of a flight; from here we could explore the castles and Hanseatic towns of the north, indulge in as much Kaffe und Kuchen as we could stomach, and gently brush up my language skills. 

And how about his for genius:  Katti’s hometown is on the main Berlin to Copenhagen cycle route, so our holiday of a lifetime would be a gentle tandem ride, far from work, cars and the vexations of daily life.

All this, and no compromise for her:  our ride in the August sunshine would take us to the wonderful, underrated coastline of northern Germany and Denmark.  Sun, sea and sand - perfekt!

However marriage, I am learning – as with any relationship - needs negotiation, cooperation, even concessions – without compromise. 

So we went to the Seychelles.

Not that I begrudged two weeks in the paradise islands of the Indian Ocean.  It was just that, after a week of relaxation on stunning, deserted beaches, I was ready for a change of scenery.  And very specifically, I had developed an idée fixe that, just as I would cycle on my wedding day, so I would have a bike ride on my honeymoon.  I can be a bit obsessive-compulsive, but it’s all about give and take, right?

La Digue was the middle ground we needed:  just off Praslin, the second-largest of the Seychelles, it's tiny gem of an island. 

For her, the beaches were indeed stunning – apparently Anse Source D'Argent is the most photographed in the world.  The sun shone, and waves crashed impressively, if a little too much to get to see much marine life through a snorkelling mask.

For him, a bike ride!  Wonderfully, La Digue has resisted the creeping motorisation of the main islands, and is a haven of cycling, along with walking and the odd oxcart. 

First we headed north, stopping for breadfruit chips and a chat in French to a wizened Creole guy, who advised us against my planned cross-country route.

Locals know best, so we changed course, and struck out on the gently rising path across the middle of the island.  It was bliss – just a gently winding path through palm, almond and takamaka trees, sun on our faces, the tinkle of a bike bell, and some rather large spider webs.

Reaching the far side of the island, we struck out on foot through the hot sand to find Petite Anse.  We had to climb a rocky outcrop to get there, but it was so worth it:  probably the most perfect beach we’d seen, completely to ourselves and stretching way into the distance.  The waves and sun were strong, but this really was a special place.

As we free-wheeled back down towards the picturesque harbour to find our boat in the turquoise water, I had to admit that I was quietly happy to have been persuaded to choose the Indian Ocean and leave the Baltic for another day.

Perhaps I should compromise more often?

Seychelles island 1: Promising Mahé

“There is little doubt that the approaches to Mahé constitute some of the most glorious land-and-sea-scapes possible.  It is one of the very few natural beauties of the world that lives up to its reputation” (William Travis in Beyond The Reefs, 1959).

How about that for a promise?

But these days nearly everyone lands on the Seychelles by plane, at the only international airport on the main island of Mahé.  And with the best will in the world, airports offer function, not glory.

We were certainly underwhelmed by our arrival in paradise.  In fairness, state of mind distorts perspective, and ours wasn’t helped by general exhaustion and the specific incompetence of Air Seychelles in leaving our bags (full of irreplaceable wedding cards) languishing in Abu Dhabi.

The assurance of golden shores got us through, and we certainly felt better after bathing in the sun and sea off Baie Lazare.  I’m no ‘beach person’, but the combination of deserted, pristine sand, warm, turquoise water, and gentle, friendly sunshine may even have exceeded our expectations.

Less impressive was our first hotel - partly our fault for investing the greater part of our budget in the second week.  Nonetheless, we’d been promised tasty creole dishes, served by happy, smiley islanders, but what we got was both uninspiring and expensive.  In truth, agriculture is still underdeveloped, with most fruit and vegetables imported at considerable cost, and maybe it is impossible to guarantee western service culture given the laid-back Seychellois way of life?  It was at best relaxed, at worst surly.  Maybe that’s harsh - but perhaps not, as even local writer Bernard Georges swears there is a “nothing-will-move-me indolence” in the souls of local workers.

We escaped for a day trip to the capital.  The bus ride had a distinctly ‘developing country’ feel (think less ‘wifi as you recline’, more ‘chickens under the seat’!), but at least we couldn’t complain that Victoria has been over-sold:  the guidebook assured us it is pretty much the tiniest capital in the world, a small town with little to detain you.  Is it possible to both under-promise and under-deliver?

Luckily we had the benefit of insider knowledge, by way of Mia, Seychelloise herself and a veteran of the islands’ tourist industry.  A trip to the ‘Jardin du Roi’ spice gardens was a real highlight, this time with delicious food and a great back-story. 

In the times when the spice trade was making the Netherlands one of the richest countries in the world, a patriotic Frenchman named Pierre Poivre undertook to ensure his country got in on the act.  He smuggled saplings out of the East Indies, from under the noses of the Dutch, and sent them to various French overseas dependencies to see how they would grow. 

On the Seychelles, a plantation was soon established, pledged to the then king. 

Things were going well until a ship sailed into harbour flying the British flag, and the panicky plantation owners burned everything, securing the precious seeds from falling into foreign hands. 

Only too late did they realise it was a French boat, sneakily flying the wrong flag in case the islands had changed hands whilst they were at sea!

Whilst the islands never made the fortune Poivre had dreamed of, he would be happy to see that the garden at least has fulfilled its promise, with rich nutmeg abounding amongst the huge bamboo trees, and delicious cinnamon growing wild across the main island.

 

And yes, he really was called Peter Pepper.

Mia also linked us with a brilliant local group, pledged to protect and enjoy the islands' unique environment.  The next day we joined them on their monthly walk, on this occasion above the southernmost tip of the island, up to a point where rice was first found.  The climb was rocky and overgrown, but we were rewarded with a great view from the summit (though having lived for two years in Cambodia we did find the promised rice plant a little underwhelming!).  

By the end of the first week we were starting to relax and appreciate some of the fantastic qualities of the Seychelles – we had booked trips to outer islands, invested in snorkelling gear, and hired a car for a couple of days to break out from the resort mentality. 

It had been a less than perfect start, but our honeymoon was beginning to look, let us say, ‘promising’.

Why I was right about marriage

1.The 24th, our big day: Suddenly, after months (years) of planning, everyone arrives. But half do not, as un-Germanic taxis can't find the house!

2. Polterabend: Loud smashing of plates deters bad spirits, health & safety not invited. Soon-to-be-happy couple sweep up to prove teamwork credentials.  Evil step-brother Roland empties barrow halfway, to our exasperation and guests’ laughter.  An impromptu speech, where bride-to-be unsubtly produces a crate so I reach her height, to my shame and guests’ hilarity - a theme?

3. Night cap: Enlivened by surreal moment as 'entertainer' from another event joins us in the hotel bar and launches into a complicated German anecdote to our entirely English-speaking group. Eventually he finishes, we pause, then burst into roaring laughter - the joke is definitely on him!

4. Children: No fewer than 32 of our 90 guests, we are delighted at how they make our day playful, informal, and fun - what's a party without kids?

5. Music: We want music in every part of our day. The violin and piano duet from the local music school hit exactly the right notes with Dvořák, Veracini and Elgar (glad I resisted their favourite Shostakovich!).  They play for ages - but everyone said to really savour the moment, so we gaze at friends and family and absorb their presence and love.

6. Ceremony: Our four nieces float in, sprinkling rose petals.  Then here comes my beautiful, blonde bride (though she is now brunette).  Not a dry eye.  Katja breaks the tension with her vows - basically not to obey - whilst I promise to recall, whatever the future may bring, the love I feel for her now.

7. Wise men: Nick gets me out of the lurch on time, backing me to change the layout so we face family and friends, in contrast to traditional back-turning churches.  Zia is cool and reliable with our hand-made rings. And after a little too much German bureaucracy from the registrar, Simon finally signs the register and dryly proclaims, sotto voce, “British Government approves” – a moment of pure class!

8. Line up: Unplanned, but it is lovely to greet every single person. It helps that we position ourselves between the guests and the wine.

9. Tests: Cutting a log with a blunt, bendy, two-person saw (“only pull, don’t push” whispers Markus, repeatedly, until it sinks in that this relates to saw technique). We do better at cutting the huge heart from a sheet using tiny nail-scissors. Our secret? Not teamwork - we treat it as a race!

10. Posey photos: We nearly don't have a photographer at all, as several friends are great behind the lens - but glad we do. Group shots can be interminably boring, so we rush a bit. Photographer even lets Katja tell him how to do his job, then continues as planned - should I copy him?

11. Jazz:  As we walk back to the Kurhaus, the joyful sound of The Marching Saints starts up. Part German oompa, part summer jazz, wholly perfect.

12. Bicycle made for two: No matter what, I will cycle on my wedding day.  We wave off the boat and horse carriages (thanks to Pippa’s brave dash).  Then twenty of us cycle away, bells a-tinkling, led through the countryside by my wife and I on our wobbly tandem.  Two memories to savour: we hit the road with perfect timing to meet cheers and waves from the horse carriages.  And just before that, as we approach a field, two horses start to run alongside us, out of pure joy.

13. Perfect picnic:  Germans do many things well, none better than Kaffe & Kuchen, perfectly laid out as we arrive at the little bay.  I get my cycle, so Katti gets her swim, in white swimsuit and veil; the water is ‘refreshing’.  More moments: everyone chills on the grass in the sun; the distant sound of jazz approaching over the still lake; we valiantly try to sing Die Vogelhochzeit; nieces Hannah & Naomi storm through The Owl and the Pussycat – and Toby steals the show with his poised ukulele performance, exceptional for a young lad.

14. Unusual reception: Even our wurst critics enjoy the locally-sourced, entirely veggie feast, and the ice-cream cake melts nicely once we’d danced round it a few times - but I hope people still notice the happy sunflowers on the table thanks to Doerte’s mum. And how do I know if my careful table-planning works?

15. Speech! I thank Christine & Rudolf for their generosity, and patience in raising my rebellious wife; and David & Phillida, my wonderful, selfless, under-appreciated parents. If and when we start a family, we will learn much from them. Wider family too: dear uncles and aunts, brilliant cousins – and Jonny & Sasha and Antje & John, not only beloved brothers and sisters, but begetters of four stunning, show-stealing flower-girls!  And friends: when else will we ever see them all together? - perhaps the best remaining argument for weddings.  They are here from Germany and Britain, Denmark and Sweden, Brussels and Switzerland - and as far away as Kenya, Canada and Japan. We really do appreciate their extraordinary efforts to be with us; in their presence we feel truly blessed.  Finally Katja:  “On behalf of my wife and I…” is a safe start, though not accurate, Katja being highly  capable of speaking for herself.  I conclude that whilst she is gorgeous, she is also the most caring, fun and beautiful person I know; tonight I truly am the luckiest man alive!

16. No presents: It takes great effort, and expense, to find this little corner of eastern Germany - this really is the only gift we want.  Yet my mum and dad insist on treating guests to a further meal the next day (and displaying a washing-line of photos from when I am more Tom Cruise than Bruce Willis), while Zia & Madeleine divert our honeymoon for a night on magical Bird Island, and Andrea & Matthias treat us to a picnic on Silhouette. Many guests write moving, personal poems collected by Antje and John, whilst Roland & Kathleen not only arrange for a fantastic book of international recipes, but also for people to send us postcards every week for the next year. (Roland explains this, and corrects Antje’s translation, to which she replies “yes I just made that up, my four-year old was tugging my dress asking for a lolly"!). All we want are cards, which we treasure, and perhaps a book or CD, the library of which will happily see us through the first years of married life, thank you all!

17. Father of the groom: Dad is understated, dryly funny, and deadly accurate. Stretching even Antje’s translation skills, he delivers a withering warning to my new wife: Oly can charm the birds from the tress, but is stubborn as an ox; he can talk the hind legs off a donkey, but like an elephant he never forgets (though is also open, loving, generous and determined).  He is so far ahead of me he even predicts my response: “Blame the parents”.  The conclusion: “Katja, you have been warned!”

18. No best man = no best man’s speech: Genius planning, but completely flawed. I avoid a sordid stag, but a salacious speech is just too tempting. Actually Zia is kind and gently funny, Simon impresses with his best German - and Nick, who knows better than most where my skeletons lie, damns me with faintly praising my over-competitiveness (though it ruins games of pool) and extreme honesty (who else pays full fare, and gives their real address when caught drinking underage?).

19. Wise Women:  I am really touched when Mary-Rose, Suzy and Pree also take the mic - quite right too. And so it’s official – the chocolate animal grudge is officially put to rest.

20. Kidnap: I make it clear to my German friends: one tradition I really don't want is kidnapping of the bride. They understand, smile nicely… and do it anyway.  At least it's the light version – others swim the lake to rescue their bride.  This near to Hamelin it's great to have a crowd of children helping me climb frames and hunt clues. It takes a good half-hour, but I eventually deliver Katja back to the reception in a wheelbarrow.

21. More music!:  Our first dance is a (deliberate) joke. Katti is irritated when I mess up some Salsa steps, though video evidence shows our guests love it (and it is actually her fault).  Little Sohpie’s enchanting Champs-Élysées stays in our heads all honeymoon, as will the embarrassment of Rhys having dredged up a song from our teen band The Eden Gardeners.  Happily the fabulous Swing for Fun band help me dedicate Somewhere Beyond The Sea to my blushing bride, and I get a front-row seat for an unforgettable can-can - before Christian our delightful DJ pumps up the volume right though to The Final Countdown... 

22. The morning after: No hangover, though a happy weariness. Yet we are greedy to spend more time with our guests, so a lovely breakfast together is followed by a gentle walk to town, lunch by the Town Hall beer & sausage festival, and a tour of Güstrow (which, like its womenfolk, has many charms!). A final get-together in the beer garden - and it really is all over.

23. One last tradition: Not to forget that, on finally getting back to our room, we find it ‘gently rearranged’ - with a trail of petals leading to the bed. So far, so romantic, until we find the alarm clock hidden in the corner, set to go off at 5am. With it, an instructive note: “Time to make a baby!” Ok, watch this space…

24.  The 24th, the best day of our lives? Oh yes, without a doubt!