Chronicle of a maritime exorcism
The last day of the mission, a relaxed atmosphere, bags packed, wetsuits drying in the sun and tired but delighted smiles.
This is precisely the moment that journalists from France 3 have chosen to arrive, curious and enthusiastic. They want to know all about the EXOFISH-MED project, exotic fish, participatory science… and I, delighted to share in this wonderful adventure, say to myself: perfect, one last interview to end the mission on a high note!
Everything goes perfectly. I explain the protocol, the dives, the biodiversity, the stakes… and add that certain exotic species can profoundly disrupt Mediterranean ecosystems. The journalist then asks me for examples, and that’s where the drama begins… I start to tell him about the champion of all categories of ecological disaster in the Eastern Mediterranean: the rabbitfish. Without realizing it, I had dropped the forbidden word. Yes. The word “rabbit”. Quietly. Naturally. As if nothing had happened.
Inevitably, since it has done so much damage to the ecosystems, I insist on saying “rabbitfish” at every turn. Three times, four times, maybe more…. without realizing that, for the sailors present, each repetition sounded like a funeral bell announcing the curse.
At the time, I’m just thinking: “Why is Xavier, our mission leader, waving his arms like a semaphore in distress behind the camera? I hesitate between “he’s giving me a big sign of encouragement” and “he’s trying to swat away a fly that’s bothering him”… So I continue, unperturbed, with my scientific discourse.
End of interview… and then Xavier literally leaps out of the box like Zebulon. He grabs the salt shaker from the edge of the table and, before I know it, spills the contents over my head, looking as solemn as a druid conjuring a curse.
Stunned silence. A few grains of salt slide down my forehead. Then, a general burst of laughter. Mostly me. Because Xavier, usually so calm, had obviously decided to save the boat… with a lot of seasoning.
Since then, whenever I come across a salt shaker, I no longer think of soup, but of my exorcism with fleur de sel, a memory that makes me smile every time and immediately makes me want to get back on board.
Virginie Raybaud
