Treasure island revsited

The remote archipelago was once the hiding place of a pirate whose exploits inspired Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island. Nicknamed Le Buse (the buzzard) for the speed and ruthlessness with which he attacked his enemies, Olivier LeVasseur is one of piracy's legends.

In the 1720s, he plundered a Portuguese galleon carrying gold, silver, diamonds, pearls, silks and the Flaming Cross of Goa – a solid gold jewel-encrusted cross belonging to the Goan church. They are still hunting for this treasure, which at present valuations is estimated to be worth more than 100m.

La Buse was hanged in 1730. The story goes that as he stood on the scaffold he tore a rolled cryptogram from his neck and flung it into the crowd shouting; "Find my treasure, ye who may". In the 1950s an English expatriate, Reginald Cruise Wilkins, took up the challenge. Convinced that he had found the cryptogram, he set about trying to decode the mystery.

According to Wilkins, Le Buse owned a stretch of coastline known as Belombre. This very stretch of land once belonged to my grandfather. Captivated by the legend, he helped to fund Wilkins' excavations. They found a series of carvings, a stash of old guns, some coins and two skeletons. But no treasure.

On the long journey from York to visit their own grandfather, I kept my children entertained with tales of the legendary buccaneer.

As the aircraft descended, bucking and swaying in the cross winds that have always made landing at Mah airport an adventure, I looked out at the landscape of my memories. It's a place of steep, lush mountains, precipitous rocky outcrops, flame trees, frangipani, bougainvillea, hibiscus, noisy mynah birds, clouds of scarlet cardinals and egrets that elegantly peck at grubs in the airport car park.

Mah is the largest of the islands and home to the capital, Victoria. This is where my father has lived since he and my mother separated when I was four. I hadn't been back for 10 years and I was struck by how little it had changed. As my father drove us to his new apartment on the other side of Mah I looked out at the tiny replica of Big Ben, a nod to the islands' colonial past.

The south east monsoons were blowing in earnest and the sea was furious – the frothy waves reminding the children of the tales of piracy I'd filled them with during the long flight. Next day we drove to the other side of the island to see my old house. I hadn't been there for 30 years. "Shall we bring our spades to dig for the treasure?" asked my six-year-old daughter.

This side of the island sits in the lee of southeast winds and the sea was a glassy, mirrored blue. As we reached Danziel, the place of the sunsets, I pulled the hire car up behind a bus shelter. And there, still hidden by the shiny dark green leaves of a very old and very familiar mango tree was my old house.

Tarantella (named by my grandmother in a supposed fit of European nostalgia) is built from local granite and it looms impressively over the small bay. The sight brought back a rush of memories. I took the children down to the beach directly below. Too rocky for swimming, it was best explored at low tide when the rock pools team with starfish, smooth shiny shells, sea urchins, sea slugs.

Here, tight between fallen boulders, I found the place where you can still knock fresh oysters off the rocks and swallow them in salty gulps. As a child I had spent lonely, motherless hours exploring this tiny beach, trying to catch glimmering pilot fish and hermit crabs in a jam jar.

Above was the rock from where my friends and I would also knock still-green mangoes from the boughs of our old tree and dip them in salt and chilli. Behind the house I could just make out the custard apple tree and the golden pear tree. I used to have to climb onto the garage roof to scrump. The bread fruit tree had gone – probably a blessing. I remember hating treading barefoot into its rotted fruit, which has the texture of a cow pat when it splats onto the lawn.

Inspired by stories of my memories, the children clamoured for evidence of piracy. We hopped back into the car to find the spot, just 400 yards away at Belombre, where Wilkins had built sea defences to protect his explorations from the rushing tides. But by now the sun was beating down fiercely. It was August, the coldest time of year, although at 28C warm enough for our Yorkshire-whitened skins.

During the two weeks that followed we took several excursions, including a tour of the islands in a glass-bottomed boat. There was a squall out at sea that day and the view through the glass was cloudy with swirling sand. We donned flippers and goggles and tumbled over the side of the boat for a better look at the coral two metres beneath us. Purple parrotfish, feather-finned angelfish, tiny pilot fish and a million other brightly coloured tropical beauties glided silently by our masks.

We visited old friends who cooked us traditional Creole fare – Job fish smoked in coconut leaves, grilled shark served with salt and lime, octopus, stewed tuna, spiced squash, egg and potato salad. Despite the intricate spices, the children tucked in. "Much better than the way you cook fish," said my 11-year-old. I was proud of them, when I was their age my father capitulated in the kitchen and bought me imported Bird's Eye fish fingers.

Like so many in the Seychelles our friends kept pet giant tortoises, which they fed on kitchen scraps. My daughter climbed astride one. I wondered if it was the one I too used to play with at her age (the tortoises can live to 150). They are native to Aldabra Island; the world's largest raised coral atoll and a Unesco World Heritage Site.

Gazing out to sea from our friend's verandah we listened to stories of island life. Pirates still ply the bright blue waters. Last year a couple from Tunbridge Wells was snatched at gunpoint by Somali brigands and the Seychelles government has launched a crackdown. Pirates are only fun when they are history.

GETTING THERE...

Seychelles Tourism Board, Bel Ombre, PO Box 1262, Victoria, Mah, Seychelles

Tel: +248 67 13 00

Fax: +248 62 06 20 / 62 06 40

Email: [email protected]

Website: www.seychelles.travel