The Ghosts of Devil’s Island

Six miles off the coast of French Guiana lie three islands, one being the notorious Devil’s Island.  Two other islands make up the group.  What they have in common is the fact that all three islands served as Napoleon’s penal colony for close to a hundred years.

Unwelcoming shores

A passing shower

Sounds from the tropical undergrowth and the crashing surf provided a dramatic backdrop for our walk in the oppressive heat, briefly interrupted by a tropical downpour.


We took refuge under the eaves of a decaying building as the skies darkened and heavy raindrops began to fall, unevenly at first and then in torrents.  After a few minutes the sun’s rays attempted to restore what had been a bright morning, peeking through the palms and creating a silvery glow over the newly formed pools of water and decaying foliage strewn across the path.  

Sun breaks through the canopy

As we walked the pathway around the perimeter of Ile de Royale, one of three islands in the group, we noticed the many rocks and stones that had been carefully placed to pave the way.  Handiwork of the island’s unwilling residents.

With a little help from Hollywood ("Papillion"), it wasn’t difficult to imagine what life must have been like for the guests of the French Government interned on Devil’s Island.

Making a meal of it

We continued our walk, amused by a chicken who pecked his way enthusiastically at the white meat from within a fallen coconut.  He applied his claws with precision to position the shell, every last shred of coconut would be consumed.

Taking a sweaty break

Leafcutter ants worked in armies, transporting their quarry back to the nest. Sandpiper-like birds hunted on the rocks, retreating deftly as the incoming waves crashed on the beach bringing fresh foraging opportunities.

Grooming the rocks

The trail narrowed and became more challenging particularly when we came face to face with a fallen tree blocking the path.  Carefully be clambered over its trunk and through its branches until we returned to the spot where our walk had begun.

The cells

Just Pretending

Our attention turned to the various buildings on the island, the purpose of which was unclear in many cases. The French language signage was oblique at best in its explanations but when we came upon the decaying prison complex its purpose could not be mistaken.  

Visions of scenes from Papillion came to mind as we walked through the crumbling cell blocks with their rusting barred windows.  

True or false in reality, I exhaled a silent cheer as I had a mental imagine of Steve McQueen successfully leaving the island on the seventh wave using his contraption of coconut shells and palm leaves to float to freedom.