Mistral Madness

Yesterday, we lost a day of work on account of bad weather - which is fine because yesterday was Sunday and working on a Sunday is sacrilegious here in Europe. Yet, there are many things we would have liked to do, had the weather allowed us. The funny thing is, it never actually rained on us.

The morning started off beautifully, sunny and clear. We began our tasks for the day: me washing the hull and Papi patching some holes in the dinghy. I was able to get my work done, but just as Papi was beginning to set up his project, these scary clouds began to show themselves from behind the mountain range that abuts the coast. Actually, it’s very picturesque; from the boat, we get a great view of the massive grey and green cliffs that are the last of the Alps before mountains meet ocean. Any bad weather that we get usually comes from the other side of those rocks, and I love to stop whatever I’m doing to watch the showdown between water, wind, mountains and clouds. Yesterday, I was privy to such a show.

From the dock, we watched as angry-looking storm clouds valiantly pushed their way over the edge of the mountains towards the sea, carrying the potential for a severe thunderstorm to erupt on us in a matter of minutes. We began to wrap up Papi’s project so that it wouldn’t get rained on, keeping an eye on the approaching tempest. After a few minutes, I noticed that the dark masses that we were so afraid seemed to be retreating! Much to my delight and confusion, the clouds were creeping back little by little behind the mountain from whence they came. I pointed this out to my father, and he scanned the conflicting skies. “We can’t take a chance,” he replied, and we continued packing up tools and equipment while the sun emerged forcefully from behind dark clouds. Before we were done, the skies were nearly barren of any sign of a meteorological disruption, and only a few stray monsters were left clinging to several crests to our west.

I’ve seen this incredible phenomenon before, when stormy clouds hover over the mountains just a few kilometers from us threatening to drown us in dreariness, before disappearing from the horizon completely. It’s amazing; you see what’s coming, and you prepare yourself to face it, but in the end, it never comes. The sun reigns king!

The way I see it, it is an epic battle between the ferocious, unwavering mountain winds and the all-powerful gales that sweep mightily over the sea. Sometimes, the mountain wins and he pushes those storm clouds over the peaks and straight out to sea, without forgetting to downpour on us first. On days like yesterday, the ocean winds hold their own – at least for a little while. The harbor might have been spared of the deluge for the moment, but it was only a matter of time until the fierce mountain winds fought again.  Back and forth, the two of them battled it out all day long. As a result, we weren’t able to get any work done, never sure if the impending rain was finally upon us or not. We knew it would come eventually, but who could say when? In the meantime, the skies were painted with dirty streaks of cotton clouds agonized by the constantly changing winds, bolts of lightning decorated the skyline. The skies couldn’t make up their mind.

It wasn’t until nightfall that the skies finally did open, in a violent downpour of pent-up frustration that had been building throughout the afternoon. The clouds exhaled and the waiting game was finally over. The city imploded. Waves lapped over the docks and fishing boats rocked in unison as the sea skulked towards the streets. Rugby players covered in streaks of mud skidded madly on their home field as they played their much-anticipated match against their rival team from Montpellier. The crowd went wild, reaching stratospheric levels of exhilaration, barely noticing the buckets of water dropping from the sky.  

What we were actually experiencing was “le mistral noir.” Usually, le mistral, a strong wind from the northwest that rakes over the northern belt of the Mediterranean, brings with it clear skies and sunny days. But sometimes, it doesn’t have the strength to dispel the knots of bad weather, and we get stuck with a dark and crazy day like yesterday. 

Today, the mistral is howling with full force. As I write this, gales are reaching an impressive 27-30 knots per hour; the mast of the boat is swaying 80 feet above the water, quivering like a plucked string on a badly tuned guitar. The forceful wind is just as hindering as rain (or the extended threat of rain). Most outdoor activities become impossible with this amount of gale and we are forced to remain indoors, shielded from the cold wind but forced to deal with mundane tasks such as cleaning and putting order to the mess that has accumulated aboard. Like a rainy day on the farm (even though this day was sunny as can be), I took advantage of being inside to do some food preserving; I put together a small batch of fig jam to take with me when I leave, a tasty souvenir to remind me of this time, these winds, this rocking boat.