Deep in the highlands of Praslin Island in the Seychelles lies the
Vallée de Mai, origin and sole source of the legendary Coco de Mer nut
(Lodoicea maldivica).  At nearly 40 pounds it is the world's largest seed, and
the subject of centuries of rumors, superstitions, and mysteries due solely to
its evocative shape, that of a woman's midsection, front and back. 

Lyn Mair and Lynnath Beckley offer a fascinating overview of the Coco de Mer's
unique botany, and a hilarious account of the long-mysterious nut's myriad
fables and legends.  The British explorer General Charles Gordon in particular
got it spectacularly wrong, elaborating detailed theories of how the Seychelles
were a remnant of the original Garden of Eden.  As I've written elsewhere,
hardly anyone can describe the Seychelles without resorting to mentions of
Paradise, so perhaps the old coot can be forgiven for his exuberance over
finding such an unequivocably suggestive fruit.

I enjoyed the Valley for another reason: it is as close as you can hope to come
to a glimpse of the Precambrian geological era.  The Coco de Mer tree has a
remarkable, prehistoric look to it anyway, with immense, clattering palm fronds
perched on stalky, concave stems designed to funnel rainwater down to the
plant's roots.  But this delightful little forest (a UNESCO World Heritage
Site, by the way) was an evocative walk through prehistory: ferns, oversized
flora, babbling streams running thrugh gargantuan boulders strewn along the
valley floor, and dark, mysterious bird life in the tree tops.

Naturally, the Seychellois had done a fantastic job of preserving and
presenting the site.  We were charged an entry fee whose revenues also support
the conservation of the incomparable Aldabra Atoll through the homegrown
Seychelles Islands Foundation, a commendable grassroots effort to protect a
truly unique part of our natural heritage.