A big, juicy steak.
A delight that lies some thirty terrible miles from here. We will have to stoically wait a few more hours. We are on the west coast of Fuerteventura, and we are going to port thanks to the scientific director’s immeasurable magnanimousness. We will land and rest for an entire day to come back to the onslaught of this campaign’s final stage. It is turning out to be more successful than ever on all accounts. But more erudite diaries will talk about this. We will stick to our thing.
We have spent three days slogging through the waters without touching land: ROV below, ROV above, divers in the water, get back on board, more ROV, night watches to the rhythm of the ship to reach the new submersion point at dawn… Anyway, all those things that have been narrated for two months now.
But our mood has not dwindled because we are already thinking about “T h e b i g j u i c y s t e a k.” And it’s not that we eat bad on the ship, no, not at all, but there’s no grill. Or oxen either. And these are things that you end up missing… Aren’t they?
In the previous log entry that I wrote, I was complaining about the strong trade winds that didn’t let us work at ease. So in this entry, I should talk about, out of elegance, the absence of these trade winds, and therefore how well we get around now. Although I should mention that there always has to be a treacherous current that questions the ship’s and/or its crew’s maneuverability. But until now, we have always come out of everything fine. So: May it last! For now, the sea is calm, and you can barely perceive the restful bobbing of a ground swell sea that must come from God knows what remote parts where, those poor souls must be in ships strapping themselves down with terrible hurricanes. How fine we are in the Canary Islands!
With a big, juicy steak on our plates, and, of course, some wrinkled potatoes cooked in seawater with Canarian mojo sauce. Cheers!