From January to March 2018
The smell of the diesel engine of the pinnace between Arcachon and Cap Ferret revives my memories of a caique in the Aegean Sea. I don't know how this desire to paint these turquoise rocks, deep vestiges of submerged cities came to me. Olympus, mountain populated by the gods, visited by tourists.
I dive. I hold my breath. Dimitri is fathoms ahead. My Greek friend disappears into the depths. He will bring back a sponge. Me nothing, just the breath I miss. We were 9 years old. We smoked fags and drank ouzo on the sly. It is a country where people stop to watch the sun go down. I remember Epidaurus, Mycenae, Meteora. The Drachma released in the center of the amphitheater to test the acoustics. These marvelous holidays, which I will always associate with a happiness where nature interferes through the skin, where the sun makes us aware of our presence both terrestrial and aquatic.
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