Voici la bande annonce du documentaire. Nous avons, Seb et moi, été horrifiés par ce que nous avons vu et décidés dorénavant de boycotter tous les lieux où des animaux sauvages en captivité se trouvent. De quel droit les hommes peuvent-il faire cela ? Ce qui m’énerve le plus dans cela, c’est qu’une majorité des gens vont passer tout un repas à critiquer par exemple les chasseurs et qui vont emmener leurs enfants, le lendemain au Zoo, au marinland d’antibes ou au Park Asterix.

Nous avons été terrifiés par les images vues dans « the cove » et nous avons décidé d agir a notre manière pour qu’un maximum de personnes cessent d’aller voir des spectacles de dauphins. Je vous en supplie, boycottez ces spectacles. N y retournez pas ! En NZ, nous avons la chance de pouvoir rencontrer des dauphins en liberté et je comprends que tout le monde a envie de voir ces animaux qui sont réellement magnifiques. Mais avant de vous faire plaisir, pensez à ces 23000 dauphins qui meurt par an pour que votre enfant puisse faire un bisou à un dauphin qui sera certainement mort dans 1 mois … simplement parce qu’il n est pas dans son environnement !!!!!

Je mets ici la bande annonce du film :

Profitez de votre prochaine ballade …. en forêt ou en mer!

« Dear Customer :

We ‘ve noticed that your energy account at …. is overdue by …

If you have paid your Genesys Energy bill since the date of this letter, please accept our thanks and disregards this letter.

If you overlooked payment for some raison, don’t panic! However we do ask that you pay this amount by ….

you always get your 10% prompt payment discount.

Plus with our rewards programme, Brownie Point, we’ll thank you for all good thing you do-not just for what you spend. By simply paying in full and on time each month you ll receive 10 BrowniePoints. « 

Je trouve que c est typiquement NZ. « Comme tu es gentil, que tu es beau et que tu es intelligent et qu un oubli peut arriver, on garde tous tes avantages mais bon ce serait cool que tu payes quand même …. »!

Les resultats sont dispos sur le site web. Sevan fini en 13′53″. Apres la course, comme un vrai breton, il a mange sa crepe…

[Diaporama]

]]> http://www.pays-du-long-nuage-blanc.com/blog/2010/02/28/sevan-et-sa-premiere-course/feed/ 10 http://www.pays-du-long-nuage-blanc.com/blog/2010/02/20/after-the-wave/ http://www.pays-du-long-nuage-blanc.com/blog/2010/02/20/after-the-wave/#comments Fri, 19 Feb 2010 22:12:57 +0000 celine http://www.pays-du-long-nuage-blanc.com/blog/?p=997 We don’t have the use to write in English on this blog. Nethertheless, some stories need to be translated. Last August, during holidays in Samoa, My brother missed to be drowned.

He wrote the story in French but he also asked his English teacher to translate the text in English.

I put it here :

To my Grandmother, Philomène LE BIGOT, who forever has my respect and admiration for her strong character, her courage, her determination, her love and her great soul.

AFTER THE WAVE (APRES LA VAGUE)

Tuesday 28 July 2009

Céline, Sébastien, Sevan and myself catch a bus so Sevan can go swimming with the turtles. It’s quite far. The bus comes at 10am, we take time to have lunch, to chat and…we’re too late for the turtles! It’s a beautiful day, so to make the most of it we go for a relaxing swim.

Since our arrival in Samoa, we’ve slept in the “Falès” by a lagoon. Right at the end of the lagoon you can see and hear what’s called THE WAVE. It’s a wave which divides the lagoon from the rest of the ocean. You can only see the white crest, but it really stands out. It’s something mysterious, fascinating. It’s a place where the ocean meets the coral reef. Sébastien, one or two days ago, swam out as far as this point, and could stand up on the dead coral – he brought back a great impression. So, that’s what I heard. In my mind, it would be impossible, unthinkable, to not swim out to this wave before the end of our few days on the Island of Savai to see what it looked like up-close and especially be able to marvel over the magnificent multi-coloured fish that we can usually only see on TV.

So off I go. Knowing the coral reef is quite far – I will learn later that it’s 900 metres from the beach – , I rent flippers, a mask and snorkel to go there directly. I don’t feel very comfortable with all this gear, and I’m a little afraid of swimming such a distance, but anyway…here I go. It must be around 11am. Before leaving, I tell Céline and Sébastien, who had decided to rent a canoe, to join me later. I start to get used to the snorkel, mask and flippers. Inhale, exhale through the mouth. Calmly. Take your time, just swim and look. Simple. From time to time I stop and turn. The island seen from far with its forests and volcanoes is absolutely magnificent. It’s great being here. I see fish of every colour, every shape… Approaching the wave I see two fish which are a lot bigger than the others I had seen until then, and they are superb. I can also see blue starfish which fit elegantly to the form of the sea floor. What’s surprising is that for a long time I have only seen sand on the bottom. No coral reef.  I’m confused and lost. I should have been able to clearly see the coral which was supposed to indicate that I shouldn’t go any further. And the impassable wave is located just behind that. But, none of that was there. I don’t know where I am exactly: where is the coral reef? It seems like the wave is close, but what distance exactly?

I don’t know where I’m going or where I am in relation to the wave. I’d also like to have a look at this famous coral reef, to see what it looks like. I imagine something rather imposing with many colourful fish. See the reef, watch the fish and head back. I only need to get close to the reef, to the infamous wave and then turn back. I know from a reliable source that the place is magnificent.

That’s when something incredible, incomprehensible happens. I haven’t seen the coral reef, only sand and I suddenly I find myself at the wave. I can’t stand up or even touch the bottom. Without knowing why or how I find myself confronted by powerful waves that crash down on me, but don’t push me back towards the lagoon. What’s surprising, crazy, completely bizarre is that it’s this moment, this starting point that I don’t understand. What happened? It’s a mystery. An absolute mystery. I didn’t see it coming at all. It’s happened so fast, and I didn’t do anything that could lead to this situation. It’s a moment that I can’t fathom. At no time do I have the physical sensation that I’m being dragged away without being aware of it. And it’s not just a wave at the end of the lagoon, but dozens of them and they’re really powerful. I can’t go back. I’m also aware of the risk of being killed if I’m thrown against the coral reef, as I’ve been told it’s extremely sharp. And if I’m lucky enough to stay alive, I would still have to swim 900m to get back to shore. Because even if I haven’t seen this famous coral reef, it must still exist!!!… and it’s clear that with the force of the waves I’ve been swept away. I’m sure that swimming in the direction of the island will not help. Whatever I do, there will always be those big waves with their white crests between me and the lagoon. There’s no way I could go back through to the other side. I’m like a prisoner.

At that moment I’m in a real cauldron, drinking mouthfuls of seawater, and I think to myself that I’m starting to drown. I have very precise recollections of this moment when I start to really panic. I’m right in the heart of gigantic waves, unwittingly, in deep blue waters. Within in a few seconds I’m washed out into the great wide ocean. And the contrast is striking, immediate. I don’t need much time to realise that I’m right in the heart of THE WAVE, right in the heart of the impossible, right in the heart of what I could never have imagined or foreseen.

Having established the fact that I’m drowning, dying, I realise that the worst thing is to allow myself to panic. I can’t believe that just a few minutes ago I was swimming peacefully, in an easy, familiar, normal, known environment.  Luckily I don’t dwell on this recent past when everything was alright. The environment is no longer the same. It was not due to a choice I made, but it won’t do any good to wonder how I got here nor what it is I’ve done, nor what has just happened – it’s an impossible situation to the highest degree, but here I am. In the space of a second, I miss the past, the time when I was living my life peacefully, but I don’t dwell on it. The situation does not allow me to cry about my predicament or what’s already happened. At this moment I make a decision: to swim in the opposite direction to the waves (those right in front of me) so I can see them coming, and most of all to find a place further out where the waves will not be as strong. I imagine that I should not have to swim far and that if I stay a few waves behind THE WAVE, the zone where the ocean meets the reef, I may be able to wait, a short distance from this damn barrier, for help to arrive.  It seemed more reasonable to go out to sea than to go back through to the lagoon whatever the cost. Every part of me is saying that I can’t, that it’s not possible. To me, to go back into the waves would mean certain death, and I can’t do that. If I go further out to sea there is a possibility I may find a way out of this. A small possibility, but a possibility none the less. I have to face the facts, I passed through to the other side of the lagoon. How I did that, I don’t know but I’m well and truly on the other side. It happened so quickly. I realise that my snorkel is buggered – all that’s left in my hand is the end which I throw away. I do the same with the mask. The snorkelling is finished for today, they’re no more use to me and are a nuisance more than anything. Now the priority has become not taking in too much water. I try to go as far out to sea as possible, where the waves will not be as strong or as dangerous.  I tell myself I mustn’t give in to panic facing these massive waves. That’s very difficult to do, as they are really impressive.

Right at that moment I feel an incredible panic spread over me, and I get a cramp in my right calf. It’s one of those cramps like those you get two or three times at night, which make you cry out and you can still feel the next day. At that moment I think that the apocalyptic vision of the waves unexpectedly crashing down on me, the inhaling water and the cramp, are sure signs that there is a cross marked on a calendar indicating the end for me is today. I tell myself “No, it’s not now!”, I place my two hands against my calf, and pull really hard, lifting my leg to keep my calf stretched (all this while trying to keep my head above water) and – ahhh – the cramp is gone.  Panic could really have been lethal.

I imagine all the strategies that are being put in place. I think Céline will start becoming worried around 3 or 4pm but especially when the sun goes down. I have no doubt that the rescuers would not come in the evening or at night but the next morning at sun rise. I knew that straight away, from when I made the decision to swim out into the ocean. Am I going to hold on all night? Music from the hotel is going around and around in my head. Endlessly. A very soft, romantic music, played for the tourists to match the island paradise. Music that, after a while, really gets on your nerves. Music that has absolutely nothing to do with the situation I am in now. My flippers are tight around my heels, and are irritating me, and are not all that useful. There’s no need to swim fast. On the contrary I must conserve my energy – I can’t afford to waste it. I decide to get rid of my flippers. I feel much lighter without them. A strange sensation. Throwing away my second flipper is a little like severing the last tie with civilisation. I am dispossessed of everything. I have nothing on me except my swimsuit. A little later, I feel something brush up against me just under my left arm, which gives me a real fright – a flipper!!!

The water is a deep blue, completely different to the lagoon – I had passed into something else. I’m scared to death but I don’t have a choice other than to swim, and now I’m in this situation I have to adapt. Death by drowning is absolutely horrible. I don’t think you can decide to let yourself drown. I don’t think about swallowing water to drown myself for a split second. Swallowing the water that comes in through my nostrils is really painful. From the start, I thought that I had a hope of surviving if I could successfully get through the night. From the start, I told myself that as I can breath – inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth – that means that I’m alive and for now I have to be happy with that. I never departed from this thought. It was my motivation all along. In the worst moments, my breathing told me I was alive. What could kill me was swallowing water. That was not good. I could not do anything against it. The water came in through my nose, always through the nose, hardly ever through the mouth. I could stop it coming in through the mouth, but through the nose it goes directly in the body and is extremely unpleasant. It hurts. It’s despairing. I think of people who have died drowning and think that must be absolutely terrible. They had to fight hour after hour until exhaustion, absorbed water or whatever it was, takes them away. It’s slow, very slow. It’s a long, painful, agonising and excruciating way to die. I think of the usual loss of consciousness that people talk about, which inevitably happens at some stage. It seems a long way off. It would be too good, too easy, if I lost consciousness and drowned without realizing it. I wouldn’t mind dying under these circumstances. Of course it would be unwillingly, but by transiting through something else, the unknown, by abandoning of consciousness, pain, suffering – everything that goes with drowning – I could accept to surrender my life. If I have to die, I want it to be without my realizing it, losing consciousness, no more sensations or thoughts. At no time have I felt something like this occur. Assuming also that you gradually sense this state come over you, I’d probably have been scared senseless.

I did not want all this swallowed water, this swimming, this anxiety to end in death. The distance did not worry me much. I’m sure that I am capable of swimming for a long time. What’s terrifying is that there is no way of returning to the island that I still see without confronting the wave that surrounds it. And it’s surely the same for all the neighbouring islands. I see land but have no way of getting to it. Regarding the height of the waves, I reassure myself by saying that it’s not that bad. It’s not because of their height that they’re dangerous. They give the same sensations that you find enjoyable when you’re near the beach. I even think (I never completely lost my sense of humour except in the moments of immense panic) that, at the end of the day, it’s like an artificial wave pool! Therefore, it’s not the height of the waves that constitute the danger. Even thought they’re impressive, they don’t submerse you, don’t make you drink mouthfuls of water. What are terrifying are those that carry you away and crash down on you. Because those ones you have no control over.

I’m not hungry at any point, but man am I thirsty! I often dream of an orange Fanta served at the hotel. My life for a Fanta! My main objective all along is to find a way not to swallow too much water. I get the feeling that every time I swallow a gulp it causes a real loss of energy and I know that if I can, or believe I can, swim a long time, I could not hold on indefinitely because of absorbing too much salt water.

While swimming, in the afternoon, occasionally my ears blocked up with water. The sensation that it produced was amazing. It’s like a taste of death. I have the impression that I’ve already lost one of my senses. It creates a surreal feeling. I’m here, swimming…I’m not paying any attention to my physical sensations, kinaesthetic, to my body. The swimming is done all by itself, without having to think about it in any way. The most active sense, that which I’m most aware of, which is always there, is the view. There’s no way I’m closing my eyes. I am constantly concentrating hard on the waves in front of me. My eyes are fixed towards the sea. Ordinarily, when my ears are blocked, I lean my head and sometimes make small movements to get rid of the water blocking them. In the water, that’s impossible. I have no other choice than to continue swimming with my blocked ears, and hear things as if they are far away. When, for a moment, one of my ears unblocks, the noise is deafening, unsettling but almost pleasant – it’s like being more aware of the reality of what’s going on. It’s like having more power over your environment, having the possibility to be more responsive. Pure illusion of course, but that’s what I felt at the time. It’s easier to fight, to struggle, against something real, equipped with all your senses than to be in something vague or uncertain.

I watch a magnificent sunset. So I know which way is west and where the sun will rise tomorrow. I want to see the sun rise before dying. That’s a goal. You have to make the most of a crap situation and find a little pleasure when it presents itself. Intuitively, I think that they will search for me in the lagoon. I can’t imagine a dingy, a canoe, or a small boat crossing the wave. The waves are too strong and would be too dangerous. And yet, here I am…and I’m not a fish! At one moment, the waves are so numerous and close together that I think that even if a canoe crossed the wave to search for me, they wouldn’t find me in all of this.

Over the course of my journey, I come across a half a coconut. If only it was heavy enough to support me, I could have rested on it for a while. But no! When I put my weight on it, it inevitably sinks down. When I’m out of the lagoon, I think for once of all the different animals that could be in the vicinity. I don’t think too much about the possibility of sharks – that’s all I need! – and, given the situation I’m in, maybe that would be a quicker way to go. The thought does not worry me too much. The danger seemed so imminent anyway, so to add another doesn’t seem to make any difference.

I vomit regularly. I tell myself that I have to get rid of all the water I’ve swallowed. The act of vomiting is extremely unpleasant and painful. It really hurts the throat. When the sun sets, I tell myself “well, you have always said that it would be horrible to find yourself alone in the sea in the dark, and here you are!” A voice murmurs to me that in life “we never have enough of that which we don’t want”. I don’t want to listen. By the way, if all the things I didn’t want had happened to me, my life would have been a succession of catastrophes. I try to cling to reason.

I’m still happy to see the sun go down, because that means it is later than 5:30pm. When I think of 12 hours of night it hardly excites me, but hey…I ask myself how my body is going hold out. I find the water colder and the scars that I have on my arm are burning. But nothing else. In one single moment I make this observation. It’s better not to think about it. It’s the only time when I wonder about the capacity of the body to survive in water without drinking. I prefer to tell myself, and I also believe, that you can hold on for hours and hours.

I can’t rest without swimming. I breaststroke. When I stop for a bit, I tread water to keep me above the surface. I can’t afford to drop my head because of the risk of swallowing water but my neck hurts and is very sore. I need to rest, to relax. I try to swim on my back, but it’s not possible – the waves are too big. Ever since midday the waves have been really high. What’s difficult is when they’re not regular I can’t see where they’re coming from. That for me was my second moment of panic, a moment where death, doubt in my ability to resist the elements, came with acuity. There were  large waves which came from the direction of the sea but also waves which came from my right and from my left. I think to myself that it would be difficult to put up a fight if I don’t even know which direction the waves are coming from. Sometimes it’s the small waves that I didn’t notice that went in my nose causing me to swallow the water. Often, I see a white crest in the distance and think “shit, more big waves to get through”. I always tried to swim towards the part of the sea where I thought I’d be safe from these waves which break over you in such a dramatic way. The foam was a sign. I told myself that behind the powerful waves which made the foam it was surely more calm and easier to swim. Swimming for a long time? – Yes, but only if I’m in part of the sea which is a little more tranquil…

When night fell, I told myself I should really give myself a goal. For example, pretend I was going to go to Upolu Island, opposite, the one on which the plane dropped us before taking the boat to Savaї (even though I know the distance is such that it’s unattainable). I see some lights on this island. Traversing along the coast of the island seems impossible to me as the waves are still too big and leave me no respite. I cherish the hope that swimming straight ahead towards the open sea will end in finding somewhere without big waves – I dream of tranquil waters. I continue my path seawards. At one time, I think I see something, a black shape which comes out of the water. I say to myself “hey, that could be a whale” and I swim towards it. I’ve never seen a whale, and you have to make the most of a bad situation. It’s still very far. Later, on another occasion, the same thing appeared again. Then it was gone. I tell myself it would be good if I could come across a boat, fishermen, something… because I’m not in the middle of the ocean – I see the islands – human activity is not far away. I think that if I can swim through the night, out towards the ocean, then in the morning when the sun rises, I can go back towards the coast so that help can find me. The whole time I think of Céline not seeing me come back, going to find help, and doing whatever is necessary to get a helicopter to come to my rescue. In the afternoon, when I was in the large waves, on the other side of “THE WAVE”, I said to myself that my survival depends on how quickly help arrives. My life is in Céline’s hands.

During the night, while swimming in darkness, preposterous ideas kept coming into my head. I thought, at the end of the day, I’d like to die peacefully in a European hospital. I know that this type of death doesn’t exist but in this situation I obviously don’t see things in the same way. For now, I would give anything to be elsewhere, whatever the conditions, rather than here. I also think of my Grandmother, and think that maybe I’m going to die at the same time as her, and there’s a sense that my struggle, my difficulty, is in some way related to what she is going through, what she is living through also. A passage.

I think just as much about Céline who will have to announce my death, and that just doesn’t seem possible. I also don’t want my apartment to be opened and for others to have access to all my personal belongings, all the things that are part of me. Not the objects, those I don’t care about, but all the personal notes that I obviously haven’t sorted out, in which I write everything that go through my head, about me, about others, the world…

It seems to me that there are yet still things to do – I would gladly live the next 30 years of my life. I wonder if I’ll take a plane back to Paris as planned. It’s looking more and more like whether I survive or not will come down to the flip of a coin – maybe yes, maybe no. Nothing is certain. I would love to be on a plane and savouring fruit juice or champagne, going back home, going into “my house”. Before leaving for New Zealand, I joked at work that maybe I wasn’t going to come back…and that’s now what’s happening. I don’t want it to. I think of all the films I like. They’re often tragedies and I make the connection with what’s happening now. I try to reconcile all the ideas, the thoughts running around in my head. I tell myself that if I make it, I’ll write this article and call it “After the Wave”, and then send it to my friends. I think of the future. I imagine talking about everything that’s happened with the people I love, in the places I love. I think of everything that must be happening on the island. I’m convinced that Céline won’t have called my parents until she is certain about what’s happened me. I’m convinced that everyone must be thinking that I’m dead. In the first instance I was wrong. Céline told me that she had the courage to say straight away that I was missing, but not that I was dead. All these thoughts certainly helped to pass the time more quickly. The advantage of night time is that the height of the waves is less impressive.

During my swim out to sea, I realise that I’m fighting against the waves for nothing. They’re still just as strong, but I also have the impression that there is a pattern. With one or two big waves, I struggle more than usual towards the open sea. It’s very sudden. I realise that the waves are pushing in the direction of the shore, to the west side of the island where I can make out a large patch of forest. I decide at that moment to go with the waves, to let myself be carried by them as from time to time a wave takes me and it’s hard to fight it. So I’m not going to fight it. Later, I see the white crests of the waves which separate the lagoon from the rest of the sea. It’s towards that that I’m taken, and I let myself be taken. Again. The path is reversed. I quicken my movements to try to get back to land. Now it could be possible to be thrown back onto shore. I think that the tide must be starting to rise, which will inevitably carry me towards the coast. I quicken my pace, eager to get to land. I have only one desire: to put a foot on to land, to touch the ground.  I make small movements, as there’s no point in wasting energy. I think of the film Jaws when at the end Brody and another guy, even though they’re really far from the shore, cling to a bit of wood, or something similar that they find in the water, and get back to shore by kicking with there legs. I would love to have something that I could hang on to, just to rest for a bit. To have some support. A simple support. Anyway, the distance doesn’t matter. The question of how far it is to go is not what is preoccupying me. And anyway, I have time. Like in the film where you hear the seagulls, one or two times during daylight I may have seen an albatross. That means that land cannot be far. An even in the case of a bird, it is something living, a distraction, a subject to occupy you. In the water, everything becomes important: the possibility of a whale, an albatross, half a coconut…

At the start, when I decided to go with the waves, it was only one wave in 10 that pushed me forward. The rest of the time I had the impression that I wasn’t really moving much, just treading water. The distance to shore seemed very far. Better to go slowly and to get there…so, I swim, I swim…until I realise that the stronger, more powerful waves, those that have the white crests, are more frequent. It’s a sign that I’m getting close to the Island. The forest is clearly visible in the dark. I know that the big waves, the ones with the white crests, indicate that they are breaking against the coral reef. I also know that after the coral reef it is still very far before you reach land. There, I think that THE WAVE breaks very close in to the shore. The water current is flowing west, and I feel that I can let myself be pushed along by the waves, either going straight in front of, or even further past what appears to be the end or point of the Island. From what I can see of the forest, it seems to be about half way between the eastern-most point where I see the forest and the end of the Island. The infamous wave probably goes around the whole island. I don’t see any point in looking for a less dangerous place to attempt to cross, and if by some miracle I get through and can return to the ‘Falès’ by foot at night, it’s better not to be too far away. The thought of escape, even if it shows great naivety (in the middle of the night “heya, it’s me, I got a little lost but don’t worry everything’s ok now”) never left me.

Now that I’m here, I say to myself “too bad now, here I go”. It’s make or break! Either I’m cut up by the coral and I’m dead, that’s it from me, or with a little luck…For such a long time, I’ve wanted nothing more than to put a foot on solid ground, I dream of it, and I make an attempt when I feel I’m getting close to shore, but never touch bottom. Finally, I prepare myself to be taken into the white water. I look behind and when I see a big wave approaching, I close my eyes, hold my nose, hold my breath and let myself be taken. In this situation, I had no other option! Deciding to go back into the waves which are so powerful and break against you is not an obvious choice. I’ve had my fill of emotions for the day. Finally, two or three extremely powerful waves are enough to project me towards the shore. For a moment, my foot can touch the bottom. It was just an instant but I appreciate that flash of a second before finding myself back under water being pushed along by another wave. Arriving on shore, what I had imagined from afar to be a beach with soft white sand leading up to the forest, is in fact a cliff, a very long cliff, with rocks and stones. The waves that are breaking here are extremely powerful and push me onto very slippery rocks.

I try to stand up – impossible. I try hold on to a large rock or boulder, thinking that I’m going to cling on and try to resist the waves and with faith wait like that the rest of the night, as long as possible. Never mind if I get waves in my face all night, at least I’m on land, and no longer in the ocean. Impossible, it doesn’t work. With each wave I’m like a rolling ball over the rocks. I can tell it’s a very dangerous spot. By chance, I see part of the cliff which is protruding. I hardly cling on to it. It really hurts trying to hang on. I realise that I can climb up on top to escape from the fury of the waves. It’s not exactly paradise but I can sit and wait, and above all I’m not in amongst the wall of waves which I see in front of me, I’m on land. I vomit. I’m also able to urinate, because in the water I just couldn’t. I was too tense and contracted and it wasn’t possible. All my attempts were unsuccessful, my body just couldn’t relax enough. I had said to myself “and what’s more you’re going to die with a full bladder!” It was a high and a discovery: you can die drowning without even emptying your bladder, and you can swim for hours to survive, all the time needing a piss. There, on the rock, I could relax a little. No need to flush. The sea water, the waves that regularly splash me, clean it all away.

I settle down in a small nook of the cliff. A crab comes down, as if I was stealing his spot. And I wait. I continue to breath in through the nose and out through the mouth, proof that I’m still alive. I think now that I must wait until daybreak. Waves are regularly splashing up into my face. I look around me. I see that I’m in a hole which has been dug into the cliff by the force of the waves. I can’t climb higher as the shape of my ‘refuge’ is rounded up above my head. The only time my head lightly bumped against something was against the wall of my shelter, while trying to move. I lift my head to see on the rock how high the water can go. Above the rock I see the forest. The anxiety that emerges is about knowing how high the water rises. If, with the tide, it rises too high, I’ll be like a rat. I’ll be crushed against the cliff by the force of the waves. But anyway, I’m still breathing, and that means I’m still alive. What’s more, when I see and hear the apocalyptic show in front of me, I say to myself it’s good that I’m not in that. While watching the waves break against the beach, I think I can see stones and sand. I think that with a bit of luck I can climb down over what’s in front of MY rock, work my way along the cliff and return, by night, to the huts. What a mistake! As soon as I’m down, the waves throw me against the rocks. I grab onto a large stone or rock with my arms but despite that I’m still thrown around. The rock doesn’t move an inch, but I’m pushed a couple of meters away. At this moment, I panic. I tell myself that it’s really stupid of me, there were a few moments earlier where I was safe and secure, and like an idiot I’ve gotten myself back into trouble. It would have been fine to wait. Finally, I manage to get a hold of the cliff and climb back up onto the rock. A narrow escape!

I look at the stars and ask myself what could be the Southern Hemisphere constellations. I identify a constellation that already fascinated me in New Zealand as I find it jumps out at you when you look at the sky. If I see the stars move, or if they’re not quite in the same place, if I note that their position in the sky has changed, it means that the earth is moving at that time has passed. This constellation, I found out later, is the Southern Cross. I read in a travel guide that it served, and continues to serve, as a reference point for navigators. I understand. It is even represented on the New Zealand flag. I try to calculate what time it could be. I know that the time will pass slowly waiting here. If it’s two or three in the morning that’s ok, but if it’s only midnight, hello anxiety. I see some shells on the rock. I don’t know what they are, or what creatures are around me. Occasionally I feel something bite me hard. It can’t be a mosquito. Nor is it an illusion. It’s something that I can grab and throw. Insect? Something that’s fallen from the trees above? I have no idea. Suddenly, without knowing why, I feel an extreme pain on the toe of my right foot. It’s an acute pain, hard to bear, which stings to death. A throbbing pain. If I have to wait for hours and also have this kind of pain while being showered with water, not quite hot enough to qualify as warm, which covers me regularly, that’s not a great sign. When I tried to leave the rock, I probably ripped a nail holding on and trying to climb back up. I touch it with my hand and realise that the nail is virtually completely bent back. Super! At the same time I think that if I can get out of here with just a few broken nails that would be a miracle. The pain resides from time to time, and then returns with real intensity. I cry out. It’s the one time here I think of the film “Castaway”, in the scene where Tom Hanks tries to remove a bad tooth with an ice skate. If it gets too bad, then maybe I’m going to be obliged to rip off the nail. I never thought I could do such a thing! Occasionally I also move my arms so I don’t get too cold. Regularly I try and stand up on the rock – staying well attached to it this time – because to be sitting on a rock for hours is about as comfortable as a bike seat when you haven’t ridden for ages. You have to change positions from time to time, and stretch the legs. I also see some large clouds appear which hide the stars. Damn! That’s all that’s missing. I have decided that nothing will be spared for me tonight. What’s really unpleasant is to be hit by a wave just after having dried off. At the start, and at other times, I count the waves to see out of 50, how many reach me. I’m very attentive to the height of the waves, and I’m hoping that there not going to rise too high. I make a different calculation. If from 50 waves, only a few reach me, that means the water is not rising too high or too fast . The previous nights, I slept badly. The noise of the waves was very loud with the tide rising towards the middle of the night. Around three or four in the morning the waves started to make less noise and retreated a little. The tide was starting to go out. From my rock I said that the tide would end up going out – I only wanted it not to go any higher – and then I would be in less danger.

My area of movement on the rock is about 30 odd centimetres. I try in vain to move myself as high as possible to protect myself from the waves. Not because it’s dangerous, but because it’s just starting to get a little cold and unpleasant.

The vision of what’s happening in front of me is almost apocalyptic. I see the waves crash against the cliff. Further out, they rise and whiten the colour of the ocean. Often, I think that considering the high or the force of the waves they will unquestionably reach me. It’s not systematic. An optical effect or an effect of fatigue, I vaguely have the impression that just behind the waves that I can see, there are more that are as high as a wall and will completely devour me. Those that break against the rocks make a terrifying noise. No way of sleeping! Even when I would like to, I can’t and I’d run the risk of falling off the rock. With the sky overcast, I don’t know if it is the waves or a storm I can hear. It also sounds like a helicopter. I think that if the wind and rain are as strong as the other time in the ‘Falès’, that’s a bad sign. Two or three days earlier, in the middle of the night, we were taken surprise by the suddenness, strength, brutality of the wind and rain which forced us to shut the windows better to give as much shelter as possible. Actually, when it rains it’s not that cold. Slightly colder than the water in the ocean. The contrast between the rain and the spray that hits me from the waves is not very striking. I don’t get hit by torrents of water as I had feared. Maybe I’m protected slightly by the cliff. I take advantage of the rain by trying to have a drink but when I raise my head, my mouth wide open to try and catch drops of rain, I get big drops in my eyes – which is really not pleasant – and nothing in the mouth. Joining my hands together, I also don’t succeed in catching water. The water inevitably slips or flows away, and anyway my hands are salty so my attempts to drink a little fresh water prove unsuccessful. From time to time, something also drops down nearby. It’s probably not pinecones. The only thing missing is for me to get hit on the head by a coconut!

Unavoidably, I wait. Curiously the pain in my toe has disappeared. Ah, thank you! Occasionally I see lights on the far left, west, part of the island. I try to deduce the possible time. Maybe the people have stayed up late and they’re just going to bed now…if I can see lights, then it means in the morning someone could see me from the tip of the Island and get help.

At one point I get a big wave over my body, and without knowing it, that’s the last. I see the waves very slowly, very progressively, in the cove to my left, go out further, no longer reaching the top of the wall. A large rock serves as a reference to see how far up the water reaches. The cove on my left is not completely filled with water, but at no time is the rock totally free from the waves. It’s a sign that the water is retreating but…slowly. We’re on the right track. I only hope that it will go out far enough so that later I can descend and try to work my way along the cliff towards the east. Later, because I don’t want to get myself back into danger for no reason. No way am I going to push it and run the risk of rolling around on the rocks again. It’s better to wait until the water has receded far enough, even if time goes slowly, as I’ll have to cope with a slippery surface, a difficult walk over rocks, not to mention with my injured toe which is not exactly going to help. I look around to see if there are also other rock outcrops which could serve as a base in case the water starts to rise again and it would be necessary to seek shelter during high tide, should I have to stay another night facing out to the sea.

I think I am on a point a little more central on the cliff – this is the impression I had from afar when I swam towards the island – and my night time experience, my attempt to escape, when I climbed the cliff showed me that going along the cliff face would not be as easy as I had originally imagined it. What’s more: easy is one thing, but is it even possible? I think that if the wave goes around the whole island it must mean that at one point it crashes against the coral reef forming a lagoon, and then against the cliff. What’s it like, the junction between the lagoon and the cliff? Is it possible to cross at low tide? I start to imagine the possibility of leaving in several stages, always with a view on a point, a rock outcrop on which to hold on to avoid getting knocked around on the rocks. Anything, any way, to avoid finding myself in the water again.

While during the night I feared the rain, I now wonder whether during the day the cliff will shelter me from the sun. Here, the rain falls with a great deal of force without warning, but the sun can possibly be even more dangerous if you don’t protect yourself. In less than an hour you cook like a steak on both sides! Still, it’s better to concentrate on the here and now, breathing, living, and for the rest “inshallah”, we’ll see later… Take things one at a time. It’s just one of the thoughts that come and go in my head surreptitiously, but I don’t dwell on them.

The last stage is to wait for daylight to come. My eyes are riveted eastwards, to my right. The sky is very overcast. No magnificent sunrise. I’m glad to see the dawn, to see things appear around me. On my right, I see a rat on a rock. Once again, I think that’s all I need! I realise that it’s actually a bat, and I can see two or three hanging from the rock. They seem fairly big. I think that when they spread their wings they must be fairly impressive. I don’t speak to them, thinking it would be great if they keep sleeping, staying immobile, that we all stay in our own corner. The cliff is a big place, plenty of room for everyone. Sure, I’m the one who’s gate-crashed, but I have no intention of staying here forever. I also see shellfish. A little further to my right, I see an animal by the water – a dog? An animal capable of climbing the cliff? Either way, an animal which doesn’t slip on the rocks and seems to be familiar with the surroundings, who advances a little into the water letting itself be covered by the waves without being washed away. I will never know what kind of animal it was. I think that if it’s a dog it means there is possibly a path to get away from the cliff close by. If the sea has retreated enough, and if I succeed in getting down and standing up on the rocks, I might find it’s just a small distance to the forest. I don’t dare make any noise to indicate my presence. I don’t want to scare this animal that I know nothing about, and hence don’t know how it will react. This animal “which has not been introduced to me”. I also don’t want to wake the bats. In any case, it’s a sign that’s there’s a way to get out of this place. For now, though, I don’t climb down from the rock. I’ve learnt my lesson. I wait for the tide to reach its lowest point and hope that it will continue to get lower, because from the level at the “Falès” in which I slept in my old life, I know that the difference between low and high tide is only a matter of a couple metres, a quite ridiculous distance. I also hold the desperate hope that as day comes, it will bring some sort of rescue.

Then I hear a marvellous noise, which I had wanted to hear so badly, of a helicopter. A dark green helicopter comes from where the sun is rising. To see and hear this helicopter which appeared in an instant, like by magic, is one of the best moments of my life. I know they’re coming for me, I know who they’re looking for. I wave my arms around. I know when the helicopter makes a turn above the cliff that I’ve been spotted. I burst into tears. Tears without actual tears, because I don’t think I have any left in reserve – I don’t have any fresh water left in me, the stock is exhausted. When the helicopter is positioned over the rock, water splashes on me a little, the leaves from the forest fly around, hover, and I’m very cold. They’re here to save my life so I’m not going to ask them to move away a little! The prospect of climbing into the helicopter or being deposited somewhere far way scares me a little but the main thing is that the rescuers are here. The collective resources, the human organisation has for once brought me enormous benefit. A girl drops from the helicopter by a rope, asks me how I am, gives me some water, shows me how to put my legs and arms in the harness, how to hold on to get into the helicopter. She tells me she’ll be right behind me and then gives me the signal. Up we go into the helicopter. On board, I have only one reaction: to say thank you.  Thank you to the young woman who came down, thank you to all the people in the helicopter, thank you to all those who helped with the helicopter. Thank you Céline.

At the hospital where, escorted by police, I am extremely warmly welcomed, I note that it’s not yet finished with the waves. X-ray of my lungs: when I see the picture I think “shit, all that just to find out that I have lung cancer…!”. You don’t have to be a genius to see that the colour of my two lungs is not that same and that must not be ‘normal’. The one on the left is dark black, the right has big white spots. The doctor tells me I have a pulmonary infection and gives me antibiotics. When I ask which of my lungs is affected he says “both”… Once the nail of my right big toe is removed, I try to relax a little. As soon as I close my eyes, I have a new experience: I find myself in the middle of the waves again, just like I’m there. It’s like turning on the TV and finding yourself right in the middle of a film you’d left the day before. Sleeping in these conditions seems impossible. The doctor prescribes me some valium and I manage to sleep in the afternoon, before participating in a barbeque that the proprietors of the hotel have generously prepared in my benefit.

This text is possibly a little long. A little bit repetitive. My intention is not to write a great piece of literature. I want to be as detailed as possible, as true as possible to what happened during those 20-odd hours, what I lived, felt and thought. Maybe one day, in those exceptional or unexpected circumstances which life presents without warning, it will be useful to someone…

For this reason, I recorded as many things as possible at the hotel, during the days after, in the heat, facing the magnificent lagoon, unable to swim, savouring orange Fanta and the joy of living. The details that I would have forgotten were therefore put onto paper, and with a general framework, other memories resurfaced and found their way into the text.

I owe it to myself to write this text, as I promised I would when I was in the water. I also owe it to all the people who helped me or who helped the people I love during this experience.

This experience is not a moment of great altruism. I thought of others, and their reactions, their grief, and everything that would have been happening on land. Of what would happen if I lived. Of what would happen if I died. I thought of this often, a lot.

Nevertheless, I was naked, more than ever, alone with myself, without anything other resource other than myself, confronted by the elements, and the only thing that counted at that moment was saving my skin!

At no time did I think of myself as indispensable. I thought about how even the people, the authors, whom I admire the most are dead but the world does not stop turning. It was all very simple: I simply did not want to die there, nor like that, nor now. And I never realised that clearly until then, that I had so little control over it all.

To finish, I would like to thank the ‘non-athlete’, the ‘non-sporty person’, the ‘not-such-a-good-swimmer’, who, with only a swimsuit, a body, a past full of experiences, of memories, reflections, a capacity to confront certain experiences in the present, the future (this is where I had some doubt as it was where there was less certainty), a brain which never stops, which tirelessly creates thoughts, a solid imagination, an ability to dream, took advantage of some good fortune, a rock outcrop, and all the favourable circumstances which destiny, God perhaps, had given him.

I mentioned my swimsuit. It deserves some special attention. I want to point out its resilience. I’ve had it for a number of years and it survived on the rock without even a hole. While unpacking my bags the other day, I had a feeling that something was missing. What could it be? Of course, my swimsuit! I opened my backpack again, rummaged around in all the pockets and found it at the bottom of one of them…With a great deal of respect I folded it up and laid it with my other things. It will always have a special place amongst my clothes.

Gennevillers, 17 August 2009

Christophe COURTAUD

Translation : Ian WILSON

On atteint un taux d’humidité assez élevé et en même temps, il fait chaud. Ce qui fait que tu es mouillé et tu ne sais pas trop si c’est la transpiration ou si c’est l’eau extérieur.

Quand on se promène dans le bush, on se croit dans les tropiques …

Quand on dort la nuit, on regrette de ne pas avoir de moustiquaire parce que les gentilles petites bêtes qui font zzzzzzzz à coté de ton oreille gauche toute la nuit finissent par te convaincre que tu vas avoir des boutons partout et du coup tu ne dors pas beaucoup.

Donc pour nous en ce moment, la devise est :  » cueille le jour présent ! ».  En ce moment, notre plaisir c’est de boire un bon verre de vin sur le deck avec le soleil qui tape et le chant des cigalles. On apprécie aussi le bush, la mer et plein de petits plaisirs.

Voilà, pour nos objectifs à atteindre en 2010 : vivre paisiblement ! Quel Challenge !