I started windsurfing around 8 or 9 years old, and every summer I spent all day with my father Michel and my sister Alice (pro sup and windsurf . The first questions people ask me typically enquire as to the toughest part of the adventure, or the most extreme situation I found myself in. I usually tell them the story of a thunderstorm in Hungary, when lightning was striking the river every second one bolt after another, while I was seeking shelter under a row of crooked trees watching the awesome display. Or how at the finish I dived into the Black sea, crying so hard that I thought I would drown. Or at the Iron Gates in Serbia when I couldn’t paddle another stroke, and a German sailing boat picked me up in the very moment when I was ready to quit the whole goddam thing.
