Calvi, day II
We will not dwell on the complexity of the awakening. Nor will we dwell on the local Internet connection, which has made the most novice special envoys almost bald. Our program is provided.
55 DSL invites us to lunch on the beach of Octopussy, HQ of the brand. Once is not usual, we find there the Citizens! and Manaré, who mixes this afternoon on the beach. The Rosso brothers are on sale, they join our table. Fish. At 3pm, the dj starts his set. The crowd is compact, gregarious instinct obliges, it is impossible to cross the beach without getting wet feet. Little girls, visibly intoxicated by the joy of legal age, play Schumacher by generously watering friends and neighbours with a magnum of champagne. You think it’s a waste, but bimbos are crazy about it. Their designer jerseys are shrinking day by day. We look, and we think of the decay of the human being, but that after all, we are only mammals.
Appointment taken on the big sailboat Monster x Diesel (again him) for a stroll in the open sea, and a filmed interview of Stefano Rosso, the son of. Philippe, gruff captain of the three masts, hoists the sails by launching some jovial galéjades. Bad option: there is no wind, the crew turns on the engine. We enjoy the panorama offered by the port, the citadel and the mountains. The beauty island definitely didn’t steal his phrase. At that moment, we feel a kind of fullness, that feeling proper to the moments during which the five senses enter into osmosis. We tell ourselves that our brain is secreting serotonin, the molecule of happiness. Jennifer Cardini, who came aboard in pretty company, tells us that for her some djs make “dog food”. Axel, aka Superpitcher, shows us his gift box Rivieras (still them) x Surface to Air, coordinated beach shoes with bath towel, in a sublime box which, alone, must well cost the price of the said towel. We think it’s cool.
The ship brings us back safely. We take advantage of a small hour off to face our enemy 2.0. The Corsicans do not seem affected by our priesthood. We figure they don’t stream Woodkid clips on Vimeo. The hotel receptionist launches us with the vernacular accent: “I don’t know, if there isn’t Internet, there isn’t Internet”. Thank you, ma’am.
At sunset, back on the Monster x Diesel boat for the daily aperitif: many artists are there, those who played the day before, those who will play in the evening. Para One is behind the turntables. We have fun with the ophthalmic monopoly of round glasses.
Tonight’s programming is tempting, and our friends are going on stage. Impossible to make the impasse, so we go back to our apartments to spread after-sun.
