Seychelles island 4: Bird Island, by land, sea and air

Of all the islands, it was one just a single square kilometre in size and a half-hour flight north of the capital which stole our heart.  Without doubt, this was one of the most fantastic twenty-four hours we’ve ever had.

You can reach the island by air or sea, but as this was a special, short-stay treat, we flew - perhaps an appropriate way to reach Bird Island.

But this was no Airbus: just four of us wedged into the tiny plane, feeling every gust and bump of the air-current.  It was fun, though - if a little unusual - to just lean forward and have a little chat with the pilot in his cockpit.

Arrival was similarly personal – the owner wandered over to welcome us on the grass airstrip, and her assistant smilingly explained “no aircon, no windows… and this  is your tv”, gesturing to the view of the island!  We loved it - not least as we were greeted in our room with a bottle of fizz and a lovely note from Zia & Madeleine (whose hugely generous treat this was), on the back of one of his fantastic photographs of the island.

We were here primarily for the birds, but first we admired an amazing specimen of land animal:  the giant tortoise.

When sailors first started landing on the Seychelles in the eighteenth century, they blithely killed and ate them.  Luckily a few were also taken as pets, and over the decades – centuries – there was a gradual appreciation that these are incredibly special, long-living animals.  Sadly, by then they had nearly all been butchered, and this gentle, peaceful creature was completely wiped out from all of the Indian Ocean – except, fortunately, for one remote island of the Seychelles.

Happily we now live in different times.  Today there are several giant tortoises on Bird - they’re not easy to tell apart, but we were reliably informed that Esmeralda is the world’s oldest at 170 years.   She gently lumbered around, ignoring us as if she had all the time in the world, which I suppose she does.  Or maybe she was just unimpressed with humans – it took us an awful long time to realise, only recently, that Esmeralda is in fact a male!

If the tortoise was adorable on land, its relative was just beautiful in the water.  I steered clear of the stingray, but was immensely privileged to float directly above a hawkbill turtle for what seemed like an eternity, as she grazed peacefully on seagrass, as gently oblivious as her landlubbing cousin earlier.  She (or he) was utterly beautiful.

A word about snorkelling, as it was my first time. “You see and experience things… in a way that is completely different from any other.  You are in nature, part and parcel of it, in a far more complete and intense way than on dry land, and your sense of the present is overwhelming”. 

Roger Deakin’s description in his remarkable book ‘Warterlog’ is true of swimming, and even more so of snorkelling.  I was amazed by the experience:  the mask means you see and breathe as normal, and the buoyancy of your body lets you totally relax, flinding an equilibrium which leaves you floating in the perfect position, just below the surface.  I’m no swimmer, but with the simplest of snorkelling gear I could glide like a fish, changing direction with the merest wave of a hand or tweak of a foot.  Now I think I understand TS White when he said “there is practically no difference between flying in the water and flying in the air”.

Which brings us to the main residents of the island - those who swoop through the skies.  I've always envied birds, as they often seem to have the best of everything - happy waddling over land, diving into the sea, and mastering the skies.

And the bird-life here was truly exceptional:  the vibrant red Madagascan fody was the brightest, the white-tailed tropicbirds the most elegant – and their chicks, safely hatched at the base of treetrunks, easily the cutest!

I was particularly struck by the high-flying frigates, who bore a strong and slightly sinister resemblance to prehistoric pterodactyls.

But the stars are the sooty terns.  Hundreds of thousands crammed into a colony at the far end of the island, the sheer numbers amazing and ultimately hard to comprehend.  I was dazed – and hugely impressed.

Best of all, the island is now an official nature reserve, so there is no threat to these birds – and they respond by flying, swimming or walking all around you.

On land, sea, and particularly in the air – Bird Island really was an experience of a lifetime.

Seychelles island 3: The riches of Silhouette

Our final island stay on the Seychelles is Silhouette, which boasts a veritable abundance of riches.  True to its name, it cuts a dramatic shape as the shiny catamaran slips into the executive harbour, opening up the Indian Ocean’s most densely vegetated island. 

Thankfully Silhouette has no cars, and only one hotel – though it alone displays richness in the way only a high-end Hilton knows how.  My first (and likely only) stay in such luxury delighted and embarrassed me in equal measure – but after all, this was our honeymoon.

Turning to me with her priceless smile, my new wife simpered “oh schatz, isn’t it just divine? – though what if we were hit by a giant tiramisu?” Tidal waves are unlikely here, but we were inundated with heart-attacking waves of the most delicious cuisine.  And if the rich food didn’t give you a cardiac, the hefty prices would ($12 for a small bag of minibar nuts, anyone?).

In fairness, the island has a history of enrichment.  The first recorded landowner, Fancis Hodoun reportedly buried treasure deep in the forest – though this is said of most islands here.  The well-healed Dauban family then bought Silhouette – part of it, allegedly, in exchange for a violin – and went on to make a fortune from their plantations.  Their success is still visible in the lavish wooden house, now home to the deluxe creole restaurant Gran Kaz – and by the simple rusting slave bell down the road.  

So perhaps the Hiltons are just the new colonial masters?  Yet I couldn’t help noticing that there was a shiny new health centre for less than a hundred locals, and I’m sure the brightly-painted school could cope with far more than the present five pupils.  In fact, the only music and laughter we heard came from the staff quarters, us five-star guests seemingly weighed down by our richesse.

Yet there was so much to relish.  The wealth of biodiversity was stunning:  this tiny island  is a trove of over 2,000 species, including the rarest mammal on earth, the critically-endangered sheath-tailed bat.  Most of the land is mountainous forest, with mangrove, takamaka and endemic palm trees mixed with plantation cinnamon, coconut and breadfruit, plus a plentiful sprinkling of perfumed frangipani and flamboyant flame trees.

As if the land didn’t hold treasures enough, the marine life was equally stunning.  Swimming with dartingly-inquisitive snappers and dazzling Picasso fish was a huge privilege, whilst their shy, silver cousins the Milk fish coyly peaked from banks of seagrass beyond.  Ignoring guests’ inflated boasts of hunting or eating these prized creatures, the perfect combination of snorkel and seawater allowed us to bathe in a vast aquarium teaming with tropical fish.

My lasting impression of the island was one of wealth:  the lush, verdant forest; the abundance of valuable fish; the dull, monied guests; and the lingering taste of deliciously decadent, heart-stoppingly rich tiramisu.

And so, as the now-familiar silhouette faded behind us, I faced a final irony:  the island’s name turns out to owe nothing to its dramatic shape – nor to Air Seychelles in-flight magazine – but rather  to Etienne de Silhouette, an eighteenth century French nobleman and Controller General of Finances for Louis XV. 

Which I found to be just a bit rich.