Every summer it was the same thing.. The great family transhumance that took us to the little village of Ousinieres, a port nestled in a dead end, a stone's thr...
Like the day before, the damned wind started up about 9 in the morning, forcing us to make a u-turn and quickly returned to the port at full steam in order to a...
Nous autres, au Mouching, les belles histoires, on en raffole. On en redemande. On en re-veut. Des accros, des drogués. Et celle qui va suivre mérite bien le ha...