I caught a bumpy ferry ride to North Island with fellow, sleep-deprived South African, Des’ree after a 30 minute delay. While waiting at the pongy harbour, she began telling me about her experiences in the Seychelles. Des’ree is a travelling chef who has been coming and going to the islands for a few months at a time. “The locals can be so racist and they love drinking and their drugs; but they don’t inject the heroine, they smoke it!” When I asked if she would come back again, she said she would…
More interestingly, a local told me that the lucid pong was coming from the huge warehouse in the near distance, and that the Seychelles is the biggest exporter of canned tuna in the Indian Ocean.
It takes about an hour to get to North Island via ferry, which was captained by some young local gents wearing gold and cowrie jewellery with branded sunglasses and clothing who pumped Bob Marley off their iPhones pretty much the whole way. The tourist-trade does well here. It wasn’t postcard weather but was quite exciting when we hit a swell that stopped the engine and sent a gush of water overboard. I just managed to save my phone which was hiding inside my favourite shoe!
The ocean colour changed from ominous green to azure blue when we reached North Island. The environmental couple were waiting for me as I arrived, and I made a grand entrance by falling with my bum in the water as I attempted to get out the boat with my overweight backpack. I felt very foolish for having packed so much clothing; serves me right. I didn’t realise that I would be expected to wear a staff uniform for the entire stay, so honestly only used about 5% of my luggage in the end.
Next: Seychelles #3: Life on North Island
Previously: Seychelles #1: The Journey There
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