Olivier's story- Part Two. Two years after we had met, Olivier sent us a mysterious message requesting us to come to Saint Maartens for a 5 star cruise. He came to meet us at the airport rather undone and with bloodshot eyes, not quite his old self. He had given up his little yacht "Cesar" and was about to buy half of "Mulde", an old and run down East German cargo ship which belonged to a German skipper named Timo and his wife Suzy and to a third partner always referred to as Fucking Joe. Timo and Suzy where extremely sweet and we all got along beautifully. I instantly fell in love with Mulde of course. At first, it was all very joyful and fun and we sailed around the islands quite happily until the day the money that was supposed to arrive to finalize the deal was found missing. It wasn't long before the situation got nasty. I'll save you the details, but paradise turned into hell. The conclusion of this sad story is that Olivier left the board and was found a year after hanging by the neck at the top mast of a ship wreck he had just acquired and was fixing up. He was a friend but I couldn't help him. I hope he has found peace.

This is how the story begins. In January 1995, I was in Fort de France. Having just completed my first cruise across the Atlantic, I was wondering about on the island sleeping on the beach or some cheap hotel with no particular plans but not quite ready yet to fly back home. I met Olivier on the market place, attracted by his stellar tramp looks. He was selling black coral figurines on behalf of some native Caribbean fishermen he had befriended with and wanted to help out. Olivier was the proud owner and skipper of the "Cesar", a handsome sailing yacht which I was welcome to board. And so the next day we set sails en route to Saint Vincent in the Grenadines. Living on this totally deserted part of the island is beyond description. There is Richie, the boss, making sure that no one misbehaves, Morris, Robert who graced me with a portrait, Dexter ... These guys don't have a dime and won't stand a chance to leave their island, the government won't give them a passport (which is probably safer for them as all they dream of is to smuggle ganja.) Angels at home, they'd be villains anywhere else but who can blame them ? Only accessible by boat, not a tourist in sight, we spent the day and the day after, and the day after that ...fishing, carving black coral, drinking strong rum, I mean strong, and smoking our heads off. Olivier is a Belgian and makes his living, running a restaurant during the summer season on the french riviera. A hard working man and a true adventurer. We would meet again, once in Paris, where I was happy to return his hospitality, and then a year after, back in the West Indies, but that is when the story takes an unexpected turn...

Accidents in photography do not happen often, a good thing because when they do, it could mean disaster. It explains why before the time of digital photography, photographers rushed to their lab to check on results if they wanted to sleep. However, they do happen and in this particular case I was thrilled. By some very odd coincidence, Mulde, the ship I was sailing on in the Carabbeans and the day after my return to France, Christian Lacroix's Haute couture show were superimposed on the same negative. A vivid and meaningful short cut of my two lifes. The tale of Mulde, the old and rusty motor yacht must be told. I shall go back to it in a future post with photographs and sketches. But one thing first. Here is the original negative showing Mulde the ship, Suzy Lux, the skipper's wife on the deck and Olivier the third man, overlooking the couturier walking his bride at the end of the show. The story ends in Tragedy. I shall tell you how.

Before we leave Africa for another continent, I'd like to take you on a stroll to the west African coast, to Ziguinchor, a fisherman's village in Senegal along the Casamance River. This was my final stop before sailing across the Atlantic. As I wouldn't want to be seen with a camera, never the best way to meet people, I took very few photographs and illustrated my travel book with watercolors instead. I had a gold coin around my neck in case I found something truly beautiful to exchange for instead of bank notes which I got robbed of anyway while painting on the market. Properly stripped, I sailed to South America and landed there as pennyless as a newborn.