Boats & Botany

of those people was Jean Beret. He was born in rural France in seventeen forty and was fated to become a farmer, just like his dad. But Jean didn't want to grow plants. He wanted to study them. He dreamed of becoming a botanist, and although the cards were stacked against him, Jean had enough bravery and determination to break away from the farm and find work as a botanist assistant in Paris. He worked alongside Philibet Commerson, a more

established botanist who collected in catalog new plant species. Commerson was so famous that in seventeen sixty seven he was hand selected by King Louis the fifteenth for an exciting expedition. Two government funded naval ships were about to take off for a trip around the globe. The King appointed Commerson as the head botanist on a ship called the Etoal, and Commerson asked Jean Beret to come along as his

botanical assistant slash cabin boy. At twenty seven years old, Jean wasn't exactly a boy, but he also wasn't in any position to turn down such a big offer. He happily accepted, and that same year he and Commerson boarded the Yetoale and took off on the adventure of a lifetime. Only the conditions on the ship were harsher than anything Jean might have imagined. With over one hundred men on board, the quarters were cramped and dirty food and water were scarce.

It would take months to get from one destination to the next, which meant months of floating in the wide open sea. At one point, when rations were dangerously low, the crew was reduced to eating rats. Likely due to this horrible living situation, Commerson became ill. He developed an ulcer on his leg that wouldn't heel, and while Jean had dreamed of doing glamorous international botanical research. He wound up caring for his sick employer for the majority of

the voyage. Still, there were good moments. When the Aetoale reached Brazil, for example, Jean ventured inland by himself to survey the plants. There, he made one of the most famous discoveries of the entire expedition, a previously unknown, at least unknown to Europeans, vining flower known as the Boganvilia. The ship also made stops in Madagascar and Papa and

New Guinea, among others. Jean cataloged and took samples of hundreds of different plant species, and then about a year into the journey, the ship landed on Tahiti, and that's where everything fell apart for Jean. When the crew stepped off the ship, they were approached by local Tahitians. Right away, a group of men surrounded Jean. They took note of

his shorter than average stature and his beardless chin. According to one retelling, a Tahitian man called Jean Mahu, which was a word for a person who lives as a different gender than the one they were assigned at birth. The label didn't come with any judgment. Trans people were respected in Tahiti, but it did create a huge problem for Jean. You see, Jean wasn't trans, but she wasn't a cis man either. Her real name was Jean, and she'd spent her entire year long trip aboard the Atoal

living in disguise. There was only one person who knew her real identity, Philibet Commerson, who was both her employer and her lover. Ever since Jean had broken away from the farm in rural France, she had been living and working with Commerson. They'd made great botanical discoveries together, and they'd also had a son who they agreed to put up for adoption, most likely to keep their relationship a secret.

So as you'd imagine, when Commerson accepted the position as head botanist on the Attoal, Jane's company was never in question. But because eighteenth century French law specifically forbade women from stepping foot on naval ships, she could only go if she masqueraded as a man, and the disguise had worked well sort of. The fact that Jean never changed clothes around any of the other men had aroused suspicion, and the callouts in Tahiti was the nail in her coffin.

In response to the discovery, the crew agreed to take Jean and Commerson only as far as Mauritius, an East African island nation where there was a French settlement. When the Aetoal took off again without them, they were basically stranded. They made the best of a horrible situation, though, continuing their botanical work for about five years, and then Commerson died suddenly, leaving Jane all alone. Always one to rise up in the face adversity, Jean opened a tavern so

that she would be able to support herself. Less than a year later, she met a French army officer who was visiting the island. She married him, although whether the nuptials were motivated by love or the promise of a trip back to France, we can't be sure. Nevertheless, Jean eventually made it back home to Paris. And here's the real kicker. She had always been motivated by two things,

studying botany and staying with Philibert Commerson. She had never really meant to make history, but she did, and not for anything to do with flowering vines. You see, it turns out that That final trip back to France made Jean Beret the first woman in recorded history to have ever circumnavigated the globe. And I guess you could say that her risks certainly paid off. Can I say something

obvious to you? Books are special. They can alter a person's viewpoint, shift their mood, and even change their life. A good book is hard to put down. A great book is one that never leaves you, even after you've closed the cover. But one book has been keeping people up at night for the last thirty years. And it's not that it's scary or suspenseful. It's because of an Owl on The Trail of the Golden Owl was written

by French author Regis Hauser in nineteen ninety three. Although the idea had come to him about a decade and a half earlier, it had been a serious project, requiring upwards of four hundred and fifty hours to complete. But this wasn't just any novel or nonfiction work. By the time he was done, Hauser had crafted eleven elaborate clues you see. What he had devised was a treasure hunt. Artist Michelle Becker provided eleven paintings for the book, each

one just as beautiful and detailed as the clues they accompanied. Together, they would guide one resourceful sleuth to the location of the final prize, a ten inch tall bronze statue of an owl. Now normally such a meager reward wouldn't be enough to entice amateur treasure hunters to devote years to its discovery, but this owl was different. It was only

a placeholder. Once it was found, it could be exchanged by the winner for the real owl, an identical version cast in silver and gold, with diamonds, rubies, and other gems all over its head and body. And that owl is worth about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars today. Both statues had been designed by Becker, with the jewel encrusted versions stored safely in Paris. The bronze bird was

buried by Hauser somewhere in France. He published his book of clues under the pseudonym Max Valentine and waited for readers to begin their search. The idea was to have the hunt last only a few months, but the clues

proved to be more difficult to solve than expected. Despite the book's popularity and the obsessive nature of the hunters, no one has been able to find the golden owl that Houser buried, and this includes a high power lawyer at a French law firm and groups of dedicated treasure seekers who pick apart the clues for some greater meaning. These associations have developed their own language of sorts when

discussing the clues. For example, Limega is the term for mega astus, a superstructure on the puzzle, and la fleche d'Apollon refers to Apollo's arrow, a component of clue number six. But a few sections have been solved already. For example, the clue titled Opening was successfully decoded and revealed the city in which the hunt was meant to begin, Bruges in Belgium. Only a few clues have been successfully solved, though,

with others either answered in part or still entirely obscured. Sadly, though, in two thousand and nine, Hauser passed away and with him went the secrets of the owl's location. Luckily, he had written it down and passed it on to Becker, thus keeping the game alive. In twenty twenty one, the artist and co founder of the puzzle ventured to the original burial site, where Hauser had planted the bronze owl

all those years ago. He brought with them a legal bailiff as a witness to verify that the statue was still there. It was only meant to have been buried under three feet of dirt, but Becker shoveled away, waiting for the clink of metal against metal. After three hours, he finally heard it. He dropped to his knees and began scraping away the soil with his fingers, feeling for the telltale sign of the statue he'd crafted three decades earlier. And it took some doing, but he eventually pried it

free from its grave. It was still wrapped in its protective plastic. He tore it away, only to reveal an aged, rusted owl statue, and so Becker got rid of it. But don't worry, the hunt is still ongoing. He merely replaced it with a brand new bronze owl statue, which has remained in this same secret hiding place. It is always occupied. The game is still afoot today, and the men and women who have been searching for this Maltese owl are no closer to finding it now than they

were thirty years ago. Only Michel Becker knows where it is for sure, and sadly he isn't talking. I hope you've enjoyed today's guided tour of the Cabinet of Curiosities. Subscribe for free on Apple Podcasts, or learn more about the show by visiting Curiosities podcast dot com. The show was created by me Aaron Mankey in partnership with how

Stuff Works. I make another award winning show called Lore, which is a podcast, book series, and television show, and you can learn all about it over at the Worldoflore dot com. And until next time, stay curious.