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On my first afternoon at the Waldorf Astoria Seychelles Platte Island, as the sun began to dip behind the coconut trees surrounding my villa, I received a message from my personal concierge to inform me that a sighting had taken place. A golf buggy was swiftly dispatched to whizz me over to a sleepy corner of the island, dense with tropical forest. As the path began to narrow and the buggy could go no further, I was led—along with a handful of other guests—to a stake planted in the sandy earth. Slowly, it began to quiver, then shudder, then burst open: dozens, then hundreds of newborn hawksbill turtles poked out their heads and began their slow, dizzy crawl over to the sea, padding on their tiny flippers into the sunset. To a relatively ignorant observer like me, it felt like the kind of jaw-dropping moment that a David Attenborough film crew might wait weeks to witness—but it turns out that, at this time of year, it happens just about every other day on Platte Island.
Yet even taking into account the teeming wildlife of the Seychelles—the cluster of 115 Indian Ocean islands that sits a thousand miles or so east of Kenya and Tanzania—the density of natural wonders you’ll find on Platte (French for “flat,” which pretty much sums up the terrain here) isn’t exactly normal. The newly opened Waldorf Astoria, which occupies the entire island (and even has its own airstrip, with daily 14-seater flights to and from the main island of Mahé), is a particular kind of paradise. That’s partly thanks to the fact that the island has barely been inhabited before, excepting the handful of workers who spent their nights here during its former life as a coconut plantation. When it was purchased by Waldorf Astoria’s parent company a few years back, it came with tight conservation restrictions from the local government, despite there being little existing research as to what was actually living on the island.
Before construction even began, the first priority was to hire a dedicated marine biologist and an environmental manager to get to grips with what, exactly, was already here. What they discovered astonished them. First, there’s everything on land: it’s a wildly popular nesting spot for turtles, as well as home to communities of multiple species of crab (a fact I would discover on my strolls to dinner every evening, iPhone in hand to capture them scuttling across the pathways). Then, there’s its rich aquatic life. The island sits at the center of an enormous network of reefs and lagoons which you can happily wade into on a morning walk around the island. Or, take a guided tour with one of the marine specialists to spot baby sharks skimming through the shallow, glassy waters alongside a head-spinning variety of stingray species drifting across the seagrass. It’s nothing short of magical. As a result, all 50 of the accommodations that dot the perimeter of the island have been carefully set back from the oceanfront so as not to disrupt the animals that rely on being able to nip from sea to jungle with haste. But what the villas here may lack in ocean frontage (and, anyway, it’s never more than a 30-second stroll from any villa to feel the sand in your toes) they make up for in the wonders of its abundant wildlife.
But it’s also a Waldorf Astoria—so between absorbing all those exotic seabirds and turtles, you’ll be able to enjoy every five-star creature comfort known to man. Upon our arrival, the staff flocked to the airstrip to wave hello, White Lotus-style, before guiding us through a check-in process that was barely a check-in process at all: in the colossal open-air lobby, partitioned by strands of shells that came together to form curtains, I was seated to fill in a signature and then it was off to my room. Well, small palace, really: the entire island is villa-only, and even my one-bedroom was ludicrously capacious. Each one features a dramatically ridged roof that fans out into an outdoor canopy—a subtle homage to the shell of a hawksbill turtle—underneath which sit enormous panes of folding glass leading out to an expansive wooden deck where you’ll find your private pool. (Every villa has one, of course.) The design is muted, with an emphasis on natural, local materials: rope, rattan, and bamboo, alongside rustic linens in cream and taupe, featuring just the occasional nod to the tropical surroundings in the form of a tasteful palm tree print or a splash of mottled green.
But this is a resort that truly rewards the curious, so if you’re anything like me, you’ll be straight out of your villa to explore the island. Over the five days I spent there, I’d begin most mornings with a walk around its perimeter, which takes only an hour and is navigable simply by following your nose (and ducking to avoid the odd palm tree). I went out by boat to snorkel at the edge of the reef, peering over the lip of the island’s lagoon to where the waters suddenly plunge to extraordinary depths, reaching up to three miles deep between some of the islands in the Seychelles. (The island itself is formed of and within the crater of a prehistoric volcano, which partly explains why its bowl-shaped lagoon became a rich and unspoiled marine sanctuary.) I didn’t have time to try it myself, but the enthusiastic diving team also offers full PADI courses, with a deep, glass-walled pool on land for beginners. And once you’re worn out after all that adventuring, you can retire to your villa and enjoy one of its highlights, consistent across every room: the bathroom, where you can soak your weary limbs in one of their enormous, half-egg-shaped porcelain tubs. (If you’re seeking some serious R&R, you can also make a beeline for the spa, which offers restorative Balinese massages and facials using products from the Seychelles-based brand Nourish By Nature.)
The resort is isolated—there’s no getting around that—but there are also plenty of options to keep you fed and watered with enough variety across your stay, especially if it’s on the lengthier side: Platte Island is home to three restaurants, two bars, and even a special poolside menu. (Seriously, don’t miss the latter: the lightly marinated reef fish sashimi, fresh crab California rolls, and nigiri topped with just about the plumpest prawn I’ve ever seen in my life—it was fished off a neighboring island, naturally—are out of this world.) At the light and airy indoor-outdoor all-day restaurant La Perle, you’ll find an all-encompassing Mediterranean menu that will satiate your craving for a plate of straight-out-the-ocean oysters and tuna tartare after your flight, or a hearty bowl of home-made gnocchi with a silky pesto, sun-dried tomatoes, and parmesan shavings after a long day out at sea. In a tucked-away corner of the island, you’ll also find the charming Maison des Épices—an Afro-Créole fusion joint outfitted in decadent hues of gold and green—which truly comes alive at night. Don’t miss the killer cocktails and the fiery spiced lamb and octopus dishes cooked on a smoky open grill.
The real culinary highlight, though, was my meal at Moulin, where the friendly South African executive chef Jane-Therese Mulry is able to let loose. The primarily plant-based menu isn’t so much farm-to-table, she explained, as “soil-to-soul,” with the majority of ingredients coming from the sprawling kitchen garden surrounding it. (It’s still in its early stages of cultivation, but once it’s fully up and running, there will even be the option to go out and pick your own vegetables and herbs and have the chefs conjure something from that selection.) Whether a delicately pretty “garden harvest” salad drizzled with a zingy orange kombucha dressing, or a seriously good course that featured smoked portobello mushrooms in an earthy broth topped with pickled shimeji, each dish managed to hit that sweet spot between offering inventive surprises and being straight-up delicious. A final course was served in an adjoining building—I won’t spoil the surprise—and then it was back out into the night, walking barefoot in the sand to my villa while staring up at the sky. (Out here in the middle of nowhere, you’ve never seen a blanket of stars quite like it.)
As quickly as it came, my time in paradise went, and on my last day, I took a final lap of the island. Slipping into the pair of helpfully provided sea shoes in my villa, I walked through a clearing of coconut trees to find my way to the beach, wading into the shallow waters. Looking back at the jungle behind me, I could hear the leaves rustling with nests of noddy birds and terns, and then, turning my gaze out to the ocean, there was a silvery flutter as a stingray whizzed across the lip of a wave. There’s not a single corner of Platte Island that isn’t brimming with wildlife—but in that moment, I felt like I was in exactly the right place, at exactly the right time.