Mayhem in Margaux
“It was one of his simple pleasures. He could stand on a dock or sit on an overturned boat for hours at a time and stare into the haze shrouding the white silhouette of Arcachon. Around the Île aux Oiseaux, swarms of sailboats were gliding over the waves. Farther away, toward the Banc de Bernet, speedboats were growling noisily, disrupting the slow and sinuous dance of the brightly colored fishing vessels whose slender bows were gracefully negotiating the turbulence. A stone’s throw from the pie...r, between the oyster beds, one had to withstand the onslaught of the Jet Skis and water scooters. Benjamin couldn’t hide his glee when one of them ran aground on a sandbar or flooded its engine. He felt the same happy vengeance that he experienced when he crushed a mosquito bent on disturbing a peaceful evening.
Benjamin didn’t have the soul of a true sailor, but he couldn’t live far from the ocean. He often left the tranquility of Grangebelle and the bustle of Bordeaux to go walking along the seashore, even for just an hour.MoreLess
Benjamin didn’t have the soul of a true sailor, but he couldn’t live far from the ocean. He often left the tranquility of Grangebelle and the bustle of Bordeaux to go walking along the seashore, even for just an hour.MoreLess
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