The only time I ever tried surfing was in California.  I had enough balls at the time to let my neophytism roar, and got right up in front of the hoard of surfers sporting tattoos to the teeth, thirsty for waves and ready to scarf down raw whatever got in their way.

Yeah.  Sizzlin’.

I got tossed off the beach by the top of my swimsuit, and had to put to rest, right then and there, all my dreams of waves, of salty romances with Keanu Reeves (Pointbreak, you remember?), of dream bodies and intensive waxing to the sunset.

And ever since, with surfers, I just like to look.  Ehem.

I had a little child-like fun at Bondi Beach.  Didn’t stick a cheek in the water, let’s not get carried away now.  I only go swimming between the 13th and the 17th of August, and only in the Mediterranean, and only during summers of scorching heat.  But the atmosphere on this beach was really cool, bright, living colors and a cosmic energy (Oh c’mon now, you’ve never felt a place had really good vibrations to it?) that was so palpable it had me running everywhere.  And seeing as I had my camera with me, it gave me a good excuse to talk with anyone and everyone, even a green bag.

You gotta understand me though.  Here I was, exploding with happiness, and this bag, he was all alone watching from afar if his master mastered well the swell. (Yeah, with that, I don’t even get what I’m talking about.)

I thought it was so cool to see a whole bunch of the surfer girls, and then, just before leaving, getting to eat a grilled John Dory looking out over the ocean.  [So yeah, here’s a thing I just don’t get.  YOU CAN’T GO GIVING PEOPLE NAMES TO EDIBLE ANIMALS (and medium rare, please).  Every bite I swallowed of my (delicious) grilled fish, I had to think of excuses to give each member of his imaginary family.  An excuse for, I don’t know, Walter Dory, another for Donald Dory for… uhhh… Garance Dory?  And then right then, a dolphin does a back flip far off and the guilt is forced back upon my entire family, minimum back upon four generations.

SO QUICK.  Even so, it was delicious, and even if rereading my text I have to wonder what they put in their fish.

AND SO… At the end of my story of my grilled John Dory, I met Margot.

Margot is French and not only did she crack me up, “yeah, okay, you can take my picture, it’s cool, everyone is going to think i’m some international surf star and then they’ll die laughing when they see me busting my face on the first wave, but it’s all good, it’s all good!”, but on top of that, she right away gave me an invitation to a dream party where, she told me, “There will be plenty of surfers if you want to take a few photos.”

Damned!!!  I couldn’t go.  Bah, gotta believe that the waxing to the sunset just isn’t for me, back upon four generations.

Even so, in truth, surfing… I definitely have the urge to give it another go.  Who’s coming with me?

Big hugs, bonne journée!  And just one more time, sorry, John Dory.  Really though, my apologies.

Translation : Tim Sullivan