I had to skip my morning run today so that we could catch a ferry over to the Ile de Sainte Marguerite (the one of the islands off the coast of Cannes that didn't once host the man in the iron mask). I was a little dubious at first because a large party of 12-year-old French school children came over on the same boat and because the beach at which we pitched base camp was very pebbly and slimy with seaweed and algae (luckily, I had borrowed Maman's amphibious sandals, even though they were 1.5 sizes too small). 
My worries were not allayed when I heard a few cries of, "méduse," (jellyfish) from the few souls brave enough to risk the shallows. Nor when Papa and a few other people actually caught a few jellyfish. The purpose of going to that particular beach, however, was so that we could take photographs of Papa and me jumping off some rocks about 10 feet into the sea. Papa and the Bro had done this on another occasion and I was hopeful that I would be able to bring a little of my leaping panache to the table. This, of course, relied on Maman taking good photos. I gave her some quick photo training (ah, the joys of pressing the button halfway down to focus so that when you are ready to take the photo, there is less of a time lag).
And indeed, we did eventually get some good shots (and it only took about seven of each of us to get that far). Of course, this started the trend for leaping off these rocks among the Frenchies and Germans who were also picnicking at this particular beach who decided they also wanted some photos. Luckily, by then we had got our shots and so didn't need to join the queue each time we wanted to jump. Even better, I managed to completely avoid getting stung by any jellyfish, so all in all, it was a success.
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