Seychelles by the Sea Shore by John Borthwick

The original Garden of Eden? So thought General George Gordon when he reached the lush island of Praslin in the Seychelles. After seeing Praslin's most spectacular tree, the coco-de-mer, Gordon (who met a celebrated but sticky end at the siege of Khartoum in 1885) drew a rather literal conclusion about his 'Eden'.. Perhaps the distinguished Englishman had been out too long in the midday sun when he declared that the protuberances of the coco-de-mer were no less than Adam and Eve's, well, wedding tackle. If the male tree's impressive appendage (called a 'catkin') reminded him of Adam's parts, then the pelvis-shaped nut of the female coco-de-mer must surely be Adam's madam.

This 'his n' hers' palm that produces the world's largest nut (weighing up to 20 kg) is now found only in Praslin's Vallée de Mai National Park. Once Gordon had acclaimed it as the tree of knowledge - presumably carnal - and its nut, equally fancifully, had been hailed as an aphrodisiac, the great palm was in mortal trouble, even though it can live for up to 1,000 years. As often happens, the promise of juicy fecundity for one species (humans) almost led to the extinction of another. 'It used to be a delicacy, but anyone caught eating a coco-de-mer these days gets five years prison,' explains Herve, our guide as Glenn and I wander through the Edenic foliage of Vallée de Mai, now a World Heritage-protected thicket of palms, casuarinas, takamaka and countless other tree varieties.

The time-warped Seychelles archipelago of 115 islands drifts in the Indian Ocean somewhere between Africa and India. The islands are as humid as anywhere five degrees south of the equator should be, but if one moves strategically from shade tree to shady bar, it poses is no great problem. The 80,000 people of the islands, hardy Creole-speakers known as Seychellois, are living proof of a potpourri of ancestors: traders, freed slaves, pirates and castaways, plus French and British colonists. Sometimes lauded as the blueprint for the perfect tropical destination, the Seychelles targets mainly Europeans with a call to palms, as it were. For these 100,000 annual visitors the islands are a beautiful if overpriced trophy destination. Reef diving is the main sporting attraction, with the waters being home to over 100 species of coral and 900 species of fish. On land, 46 percent of the area is in conservation territory.

Mahé Island, 27 km long, is the largest island in the Seychelles. Its granite backbone rises to the 905-metre peak of Morne Seychellois before sliding in a jumble of cinnamon, palms, banyans and hardwood trees down to a coast of some 75 powdery white beaches. Mahé is also home to Victoria, one of the world's smallest capital cities, and to 90 percent of the nation's population. 'It'll take you half an hour to walk around Victoria three times,' says my friend Corina Lavigne. 'And if you get lost, you'll be in the Guinness Book of Records as the first person ever.' Instead of losing myself I find a funky, flirtatious Creole town of some 27,000 people, one set of traffic lights (the only one in the country) and several blocks of colonial-era buildings - eccentric structures of stone, timber and corrugated iron. Shade trees, blanket humidity, Chinese and Indian traders, people promenading, dreadlocks and hot music - reggae and local sega - tumbling from doorways. It's like Jamaica without the jitters. A time-warp settlement with easy manners and all afternoon to get there.

Having checked out Victoria's tiny National Museum (boasting a lovely bunch of those soft porn coco-de-mer nuts) we move on to a traffic island at the heart of town that features perhaps Mahé's only icon - an ornate silver clock tower that I wrongly dub Little Big Ben. Erected in 1903 to mark the Seychelles' 'coming of age' as a British crown colony, the clock was modelled not on London's Big Ben but on one at Victoria Station. Glenn and I have a drink at the popular Pirates Arms Bar. By 5.30 pm half the town seems to be there - it is Friday afternoon - partaking in a polite riot of beer, burgers and ice cream. Much later we find the Marie-Antoinette Restaurant in a rambling timber and iron mansion of indeterminate age. 'The building is 100 years old, and always has been,' jokes proprietor Flory Fonseca, adding, 'And our menu hasn't changed in 25 years.' We dine on her time-tested Creole dishes - battered parrot fish, aubergine, chicken curry and salad - while giving thanks that even if the British eventually won control of the colonial flagpole, French resistance persisted in the kitchen.

Portuguese explorer Vasco da Gama first sighted the Seychelles' southernmost group, the Amirantes Islands, in 1502. Thereafter the archipelago snoozed for two and a half more centuries, still uninhabited, until an Irishman claimed it for Louis XV of France in 1756. A lengthy struggle for control ended in 1814 in favour of Great Britain. During the struggle the French governor de Quinssy capitulated no fewer than seven times to British warships only to raise the French flag again each time the Brits disappeared over the horizon. The British, admiring his skills as an opportunist, rewarded him with the continuing governorship under their flag, requiring only that he slightly Anglicise his name to de Quincy. Independence from Britain came in 1976, followed by almost two decades of fairly batty coco-de-mer Marxism. A new constitution and free elections in 1993 led to the Seychelles rejoining the world - well, sort of.

French is the lingua franca, but everyone can speak English so there's plenty of chance to chat about life, love and the price of fish. Of love, Selby, a young man of Mahé, tells me, 'We live together unmarried for a long time, no problem. Plus, a wedding is very expensive. But once we get married, I notice that we then soon get divorced.' As for the price of fish it depends upon what your time is worth. On distant Desroches Island Egbert, an off-duty resort worker, clues me that, 'A half hour with a fishing line here is enough for me to catch dinner and breakfast.'

Desroches Island is silent. There is no white noise drone of distant surf, no all-night club thump. My resort room lacks both telephone and television. At last, peace on earth. A mere five kilometres long, Desroches (230 km south west of Mahé), is the largest island in the Amirantes group. There's not much to do here but fish, dive, watch the sun sizzle down into the Indian Ocean and to dawdle your bicycle along the island's one path. During a meander down this singular thoroughfare I find a giant tortoise blocking my way. A metre long and half a metre high, this boulder with eyes lumbers implacably towards me until I step aside, then rolls on to some not-too-pressing appointment in the lush jungle.

The next giant tortoise I meet is in a large enclosure on L'Union Estate on La Digue Island. Here, half a dozen of these carapaced grandees have become amenable to strokes under the chin, not unlike dogs or cats. If these tortoises could talk, what might they say about the time in the early 1970's that the sybaritic tale Goodbye Emmanuel was filmed at L'Union's Plantation House mansion? Or about the more recent and probably less steamy time (in 1999) that British PM Tony Blair and his family also passed in the historic mansion?

La Digue, fourth largest of the Seychelles, is one of the most photographed islands in the world. Time, while not quite standing still, moves at a measured pace here. Ox-carts are the primary transportation for visitors; there's still a working copra factory and a vanilla plantation. But it is not these that absorb the oceans of photographic emulsion. Behold La Digue's beaches - silky littorals guarded by massive, eroded granite pillars straight from the daydreams of Henry Moore.

But it isn't even these amorphous forms glowing pink in the sunset that attract so much lens attention, rather it's the models frequently found draped about them. La Digue's most celebrated beach, Anse Source D'Argent, is the star of countless Bacardi advertisements, swimsuit calendars, fashion shoots and corny 'Castaway'-style movies. Did Gordon of Khartoum lay eyes on La Digue's turquoise waters and languid granites? I don't know, but if he had seen them - not to mention the designer Eves that decorate them - he might have declared La Digue to be Eden's annex.