by Lorenzo Piccoli
Quimper. Folk music in the street. Wearing a windstopper in August: how weird. Maelle. Twenty-nine. Julian. The wind. The sky: big, diverse, it reminds me of Ireland. Everything here reminds me of Ireland, really. Crepatao. La Torche. Charline and Pierre. The grey Sunday morning and the paddle competition: nothing like paddling on the lake of Neuchâtel. The sunny afternoon with the easy waves. The Cubist table of our house. In Waves, Algues vertes.
Biarritz. The picturesque roads. Côte des Basques. David. The big waves that I cannot ride: I can only crash on Arianna’s back. The halls. Milady beach. The swell: when at 10 in the morning you have to rush out of the ocean because otherwise you crash on the rocks; and when at 7 in the evening you can walk in the ocean because the water is retreating.