The Seychelles is just for honeymooners, right? Well, I went there for The Telegraph as a single man ready to debunk that myth.
Lacquered in thick factor-50 sunblock, I resemble a human iced bun as I zigzag past towering coconut trees and steaming spinneys of lush, lively grass. I’m running along the spongy sand tracks that dissect the island but there’s no need for trainers here. This is very much a barefoot affair.
The island’s 117-year-old, 40st giant tortoise, Big George, raises his wise and furrowed head from beneath the shaded undergrowth as I jog past. I’m 90 years his junior and I can tell he thinks I’m a prize idiot. A three-mile run in the steamy tropics feels like a marathon.
Read the full article here.
August 20, 2017