SeychellesMap
January I always suspected that Seychelles was a total tourist craphole. But imagine my surprise when my passport was stamped with a pair of buttocks right at the border.  It turns out that a very rare type of coconut grows here, which resembles a female posterior from one side and a female anterior from the other. These coconuts are insanely expensive and are sold already numbered in an attempt to prevent contraband.  I went to my hotel only to learn that it had burned down.  So I had to relocate.  The capital city—Victoria—is approximately a street and a half wide.  It feels as though the entire country belongs to two telecom companies: Airtel and Cable & Wireless.  Accordingly, everywhere you turn, there are phone booths belonging to Airtel.  Or Cable & Wireless.  Or sometimes both.  The license plates are boring. Rental cars have an additional small orange number tacked onto the plate.  Car windshields are decorated with fairly large insurance and inspection slips.  A street sign.  A snooty trash can.  A British trash can donated to the capital by some local resort.  This was the first time in my life that I saw a woman working on a garbage truck.  Trash dumpsters.  Posters.  Traffic lights.  There are drainage ditches along all the roads. In the city, they’re covered with concrete slabs, but in rural areas they’re wide open.  The post.  There’s almost no normal food here. Or restaurants. Everyone, from tourists to bums, eats takeout crap out of Styrofoam containers.  Construction site information on individual planks.  A cemetery.  A pedestrian crossing.  A digger and two Seychellois men.  Seychellois women.  Some kind of hatch.  The quintessence of Seychellois beauty:  |
