The origin of Eden

The best conditions for diving the Seychelles occur from April through May and October through November, when the seas turn to glass. I’ve arrived in the cusp of the season, so there’s a bit of a swell of Marianne: enough to cause a massive granite boulder, teetering on a smaller rock, to sway back and forth. So, throughout the dive, we are accompanied by what sounds like the creaking and groaning of an old wooden ship rocking on an easy sea. And it is around this rock that the first gray reef sharks show up for a curious pass around our group. Shaped like rockets, gray reefs look like they’re fueled by fusion. You can feel and sense their lively energy.

They swim in patterns. Watch the pattern, ease up to the edge of it, and they swim past you, at the same distance, all day. All through the dive, a school (or maybe it was a dad-gum group date) of about 10 vertically-shaped batfish circle us, coming in close, rising up to the surface and back down, all eyes on us. Several massive parrotfish strut their garish colors in front of the black granite, standing out like drag queens at Mardi Gras. A thick school of snapper weaves among the rocks and, as we transect a sandy meadow, stingrays – a couple, of course – explode out of the sand. On the slow track back to the boat, several lobsters reveal themselves, and I have a nice encounter with perhaps the only other single critter in the Seychelles, a spotted snake eel lazing the day away in preparation for its nocturnal hunt. We bond instantly.

Later, we hit a hot spot off the island of Praslin called Saint Marie. This granite outcropping is only inhabited by birds and is a favorite site for local PADI operators. You can circumnavigate the islet underwater if you’re just looking for some exercise, but if you really want to experience the variety of life that calls this underwater city home, you need to take it slow. Here, pink anemonefish – in pairs, of course – pockmark the rocks with their gaudy purple anemone homes. Always in a state of agitation, they zip and dash among the stinging tentacles. Every time I stop enjoy their show, I find the nearby reef covered in life. Some of the best-camouflaged stonefish I’ve ever seen rest in the rocks. And in the shadows I find thick aggregations of soldierfish, bright red-orange under the beam of my dive light. Wrasse and parrotfish meander around the rocks while gobies stand sentinel on their rocky kingdoms. We discover a couple of lazy nurse sharks idling under a ledge, fully understanding the vibe of the Seychelles, even underwater.

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Back on the island, I part ways with the couple and drive my golf cart – they call it a trolley here – back to my villa, where I walk into the splendid isolation that this sybaritic escape is famous for. The evening sky turns from pale blue to pink to orange as I lounge on my verandah. Fruit bats fly overhead; mingling stars pop out of the twilight, one by one. The water, despite the darkening sky, holds on to it surreal blue until long after the sun has slipped off into infinity. I order room service with a pleasurable bottle of merlot, dessert and even an after-dinner port. The locally caught fish is so fresh I can still hear the zing of the line it was caught on; the vegetables were probably pulled from the hydroponic garden that morning. After the meal, feeling expansive, I wander down to the hot tub, strip down and ease into the water under a stunning field of glittering stars.

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