It is 8pm on a Saturday night and eight of us are sitting at a desk onboard a ship, holding on to our plates of spaghetti carbonara as our chairs slide forwards and backwards. Michel Péry, the dinner’s host, downplays the climate as a “tempête de journalistes” – one thing sailors wouldn’t categorise as a storm, however which drama-seeking journalists would possibly consult with as such to entertain their readers.
However after a white-knuckle night time in our cabins with winds reaching 74mph or power 12 – formally a hurricane – Péry has to confess it was not only a “journalists’ storm”, however the true deal.
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