Day 2: “Aldabra is a paradise bristling against the invasion of man”

The crew of Plastic Odyssey woke up on Monday, October 6, beneath a grey sky and scattered showers. In the distance, two arcs of a rainbow appeared to starboard, a symbol of hope, peace, and harmony in many cultures. After the sea turtle spotted the day before in Victoria’s harbor, it seemed the gods of the Indian Ocean were multiplying their signs of goodwill. Sailing steadily at about seven knots, the vessel now kept her course at 230 degrees, heading for Aldabra.

This Seychellois atoll, where Plastic Odyssey is to carry out a ten-day reconnaissance mission before later attempting to extract 513 tons of plastic waste, is made up of four islands: Malabar, Grande Terre, Polymnie, and Picard. Narrow channels separate them, forming an immense oval lagoon glowing emerald green.

Aldabra has always inspired awe among those lucky enough to reach it. In the 19th century, the naturalist Charles Darwin (1809–1882) visited and returned convinced of the need to protect the atoll’s biodiversity, a natural paradise and sanctuary for tens of thousands of giant tortoises. Yet its greatest defender was Commander Jacques-Yves Cousteau (1910–1997). Beyond revealing Aldabra’s coral beauty to the world, he made it his mission to protect it from the various forms of harm caused by humankind.

The explorer first visited the atoll in 1954, an expedition recounted in two books. The first, written by Gustave Cherbonnier (1909–1995), a biologist from the Muséum d’Histoire Naturelle in Paris who joined the Calypso in Doha, is rich with detail and anecdotes. Cherbonnier was enthralled by Aldabra’s wild abundance: “On May 9, Aldabra rose in a dawn of purple and gold,” he wrote in Aldabra, the Island of Giant Tortoises (Gedalge Ed.). “Aldabra the Enchantress, where for five weeks I would forget the world and its troubles, mankind and its petty quarrels. Five weeks of pure bliss.”

The second work, Aldabra, Coral Sanctuary (IMA Ed.), was written by Cousteau himself, with photographs pasted directly onto the pages. Although the red-capped explorer also described his other stops in Mahé (Seychelles) and Yemen, Aldabra left a deep impression on him: “After wonderful and fruitful weeks, we leave Aldabra with melancholy,” he wrote in his conclusion. “Beyond the biologists’ remarkable collections, we found there an atmosphere both harsh and endearing. This paradise of birds, tortoises, and fish bristles against the invasion of man. Yet this hostility is only a passive defense: nature here has renounced its usual weapons, snakes, scorpions, venomous spiders, all unknown in this place… I shall make an effort for Aldabra.”

Cousteau’s idea was bold: to lease the atoll, then under the British flag, and establish a permanent scientific base there to shield it from industrial projects threatening its fragile ecosystem. Among those plans were fish smokehouses, large-scale fishing operations, turtle meat salting, and mangrove wood exploitation for packaging cardboard.

As Cherbonnier later recounted, “Cousteau’s beautiful project never came to pass. Yet the Captain tried everything, even meeting with Churchill in London, which, by the way, is no small tribute from one great man to another, a pioneer of diving and underwater cinema. All Cousteau managed to secure was the designation of Picard Island as a nature reserve. Which, all things considered, was already quite an achievement.” Since then, the Seychelles have gained independence (in 1976), and Aldabra is now managed by the Seychelles Islands Foundation (SIF), which issues, sparingly, the coveted clearances required to set foot on the island.

It was noon aboard Plastic Odyssey. Meals are vegetarian, but freshly caught fish may be shared. Today, Aodren, the cook, prepared the dolphinfish caught the day before by Germain, head of the onboard workshop. It was exquisite.

During meals or in the cabins, Cousteau’s name often came up in conversation since the ship’s departure from Victoria. Alexis Rosenfeld, a professional diver who boarded in Mahé with his daughter Maluha and cameraman François, knew the man in the red cap personally. “I had the chance to take part in the Commander’s final expedition in the mid-1990s,” he recalled. “It was in Madagascar, aboard the Alcyone, his oceanographic vessel. I was 22, and it felt surreal to live alongside the very man who had made me dream throughout my childhood… We never discussed Aldabra directly, but the name often came up, as we were so close to the atoll.”

In the early afternoon, on the bridge, Lena, the first officer, stood watch. “Dolphins to port!” she called out. “And four gannets flying just ahead of the bow!” The sight was majestic, a dance of seabirds across the blue sky.

The day could only end one way: with a screening of The Silent World, Cousteau’s iconic film. At 9 p.m., as the sea began to swell, the conference room filled for the viewing. Yet nearly seventy years later, some sequences jar the modern eye: dynamite fishing, shark slaughter, rough handling of giant tortoises. Strangely, Aldabra is not mentioned in The Silent World. Still, the images, filmed by Louis Malle, later the director of Au Revoir les Enfants (1987), brought the entire Plastic Odyssey crew closer to the atoll they had been dreaming of. In two days, they will arrive. Excitement is building.