Mediterranean

Giens Peninsula, Hyères, Côte d’Azur. 19.30.

The original plan for today was to spend a leisurely five or six hours biking around the island of Porquerolles, a short ferry ride from Tour Fondue. It was already a quarter to eleven when I realised we weren’t going to make it: one of our group of five wasn’t feeling up to it, and we’d already lost at least an hour of the best part of the day.

In the end, it’s no great loss. The ferry to Porqerolles alone would have cost us 35€ each, which is quite a lot for an island that you could swim to if you really wanted. For context, it costs less to cross the English Channel by boat… but then, I’m not surprised. Tour Fondue is nakedly expensive in relation to the rest of the area. 4.80€ for a bottle of Coca Cola…! What planet are they living on?

Anxious not to let the day go to waste, I went on a cliff top hike with Rafe and Harry.

The Mediterranean has been pretty choppy since the day we arrived, so today’s clear waters and shimmering turquoise shoals were a sight worth waiting for. A few French families had found their way down to the various secret beaches for a morning swim. One of the local shags was fishing among the reefs of Baie du Niel, followed closely by three large mullets.

With the water so clear, it was very easy to follow the seabird as it powered through the water like a feathered harpoon. Every time it plunged below the surface, the mullets would accelerate to keep up, mirroring its pace and sharp turns. You don’t normally get to see their supreme aquatic acrobatics in England’s choppier seas, so I felt pretty lucky.

There were plenty of Sardinian warblers about, but they’ve been nigh-on impossible to capture on film, so I contented myself with one of the local robins singing his heart out by the cliffs.

Rafe suggested waiting out the midday sun before taking the kayak down to the beach. It took a little while to haul it out of the attic and pump it up, but we did stumble upon an Aladdin’s cave of supplies in the process: flippers, snorkels, life jackets and just about anything that might be useful for a seaside holiday.

Thank God I brought my GoPro. Today was a reminder that I made a huge blunder by not taking it with me to Chile (and, by proxy, the Galápagos), but at least it got some work!

The Mediterranean is quite spectacular from any angle, but it really does come to life in a whole new way beneath the waves. Sunlight filtering down onto a world of perfect blue and shimmering fish. For once, all the variables were in place: my mask fit like a glove, my breathing tube was the right height and my flippers worked like a dream. Snorkelling was heavenly! Maybe I just haven’t had the right gear before…

Wrasse, bream, combers, saupes and gobies darting across the rocks. Clouds of damselfish drifting in the sunlight. In some ways, it feels like being back in the Galapagos – a little less spectacular, perhaps, but every bit as enjoyable.

A whistle got my attention as I drifted across the bay. A Frenchwoman swimming over by the rocks asked me if I wanted to see un poulpe. I came paddling over. I confess I didn’t see it at first, despite her pointing to where it must have been. They are masters of disguise and can compress their bodies into even the tightest of crevices, so I swam off after a few minutes’ search turned up no sign.

I returned the way I had come and thought I’d give the rock another try. Sure enough… there it was.

I’ve seen a tiny octopus before on a rockpooling adventure many, many years ago, but I’ve never had any luck tracking one down since. They’re fascinating creatures to observe, with their slowly pulsating heads, the siphons on either side acting like exhaust pumps and their eight legs moving as though each had a mind of its own. They’ve been patrolling the rocky coasts of this planet for over 150 million years, so it’s quite a privilege to see such an ancient creature in the wild, and so close, too.

It feels good to have finally spent some time in the sea, especially when this place literally looks out across the Mediterranean. I also managed to track down my photos of the full moon from the other night, which really was a sight to remember.

Our last full day in France tomorrow. I believe crêpes are in order, but if the weather’s kind to us, I’ll try to get out early and see the flamingoes one more time before the others are up. Late risers as they are, that shouldn’t be too hard to achieve! BB x

I’ll pick up from right where we left off two posts ago with the dissertation.

I didn’t get it.

I should have seen it coming, I suppose. 2016 has been a bit like my last Maths exam: full of wrong answers. It’s been an odd year. A very odd year. A year where Donald Trump actually became first a viable and then the only Republican candidate for the US presidency. A year that saw 51% of Britain actually give in to race hate and fear-mongering and leave the EU. A year that brought us a Pokémon-inspired traffic jam, Boris Johnson elected as Foreign Minister, and the deaths of Prince, David Bowie and Alan Rickman. And now, just to top it all off, I’ve been thrown back onto my second choice dissertation.

In perspective, mine is a very minor problem. It still smarts, though.

Granted, radically changing my modules at the last minute may not have helped matters. But after all of the hard work I put into chiseling out a wholly original dissertation topic (not so easy, when Google contains the abstracts of almost every dissertation imaginable), I’ve been thrown back on my second. Small mercies, then, that I put just as much time and effort into making my fallback as enjoyable and challenging as the first.

Oh wait, hold the phone. I’ve done a real Benjamín here. It turns out I played an old hand this time around, one that’s never failed me before: that is, I deliberately made my second module broader, a little less original and closely linked to my TLRP, so that my university would be forced into giving me my first choice. The old ‘Second-best’ maneuver.

It’s a good trick, and it’s worked before. Only, this time I was outmaneuvered. And now I’ve been put into such a position that, if I stick to my original title, it would be almost impossible not to plagiarize myself. That’s without mentioning that the dissertation I intended to write (my first choice: memories of al-Andalus in Spanish literature) was the one I’d been planning on writing since I was in Year 10 in secondary school (I was an odd kid). It’s essentially research for my novel, the best there could have been. Gone. So that’s a six-year dream squashed underfoot. And no room for maneuver either, since they’re fixed now, and also as somebody else got the al-Andalus dissertation this year. Not so winsome now.

What a diss-aster. Thanks a lot Durham. Thanks.

On the bright side, my dissertation supervisor is possibly my favourite lecturer, so I can’t really complain. I’ll just have to swallow my six-year pride and do the best with what I’ve got. And what I’ve got is still good. Very good. Only, it looks to be a little bit harder to spin twelve thousand words of this one. Without plagiarizing myself, preferably. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

To commiserate, we went to the Med this afternoon to soak it all off in the sun. Katie has plenty to say about her equally unfair diss-missal, but the sun and the sea saw to our anger, and a couple of rounds of Psychiatrist killed any bad feeling remaining. I’ve come to love my Dar Loughat droogs as much as I did my Ali Baba babes if not more, which is a tough task. Balancing the time between them and the host family remains a tightrope walk, and one of these days I’ll have a bad fall if I’m not careful, but for now, the peace lasts.

But that’s it for today. I’m back in bed, I’m recharged on data (5€ for 5GB is a stupidly good deal) and I’m ready and waiting for the rest of the misadventures 2016 has in store for me. Global financial meltdown? World War Three? Another friend-zoning-of-the-century? All equally possible.

Here’s to another hike this weekend. The way things are going, hiking is probably the most hassle-free activity left to me.

But then again, this is me we’re talking about. Who knows what madness I’ll get up to next? BB x