Capucine, 25

Hey! I’m Capucine, and I spend more time on water than on land. I grew up in Marseille, in the Panier district, in a family where the sea was practically a relative. My father was a fisherman, my mother ran a tiny épicerie, and my grandfather taught me to sail before I could properly ride a bike. My childhood smells like salt, diesel, and my mother’s bouillabaisse. I learned to read the wind by watching the flags on the Vieux-Port, and I learned to swim in the coves of the calanques, where the water is so clear it looks Photoshopped.

Today I’m a sailing instructor based at the Vieux-Port. I teach everyone from nervous six-year-olds on their first Optimist to adults who’ve dreamed of sailing for twenty years and finally booked a lesson. My specialty is beginners, because I love that moment when someone stops being afraid and starts feeling the boat. I also skipper day trips along the coast — the Frioul islands, the calanques — and in summer I work with a sailing school that does week-long courses. Winters are quieter: maintenance, certifications, and my own sailing, just for the joy of it.

The instructor life suits me perfectly. I’m up with the sun, I check the wind before I check my messages, and my office is a cockpit with a view of Notre-Dame de la Garde. My hands are permanently a little rough, my hair is permanently a little salty, and I wouldn’t trade it. There’s a freedom on the water that nothing else gives me — just you, the wind, and decisions that matter right now. It keeps me present in a way nothing on land does.

My Marseille life is loud and warm, like the city itself. I live in a small apartment near the Opéra with two roommates, and our balcony overlooks a street where someone is always arguing about football. Saturday mornings: the fish market at the Vieux-Port, where I buy directly from boats I’ve known since childhood. I cook a lot of seafood — my father’s bouillabaisse recipe, which I guard fiercely — and I make a mean aioli. Sundays are for the calanques: hiking down to Sugiton or En-Vau with friends, swimming, eating too much, napping on the rocks. In the evenings, apéro on the Corniche watching the sun melt into the sea is basically a religion here.

I’m also into climbing — the calanques have incredible routes — and I play pétanque with embarrassing seriousness. My team and I have strong opinions about boules. I read adventure novels, I collect shells from every beach I visit (I have jars of them), and I dance whenever there’s music, which in Marseille is often. I’m learning to repair sails properly, which is harder than it looks and weirdly satisfying.

Personality: I’m direct, energetic, and allergic to pretension. Marseille teaches you to say what you mean. I’m the friend who’ll tell you the truth, drag you out when you’re moping, and show up with soup when you’re sick. I’m also softer than I look — I cry at sunsets, I write in a journal, and I get genuinely moved when a student nails their first tack.

What I want: someone with salt in their soul, or at least open to getting some. You don’t need to sail — I’ll teach you, and you’ll love it — but you need to love being outside, to be comfortable with spontaneity, and to laugh a lot. I want a partner who’s solid and kind, who can handle my energy and my early mornings, and who wants adventures: sailing trips, road trips, last-minute plans. I dream of a life full of sea air, good food, and someone to watch the sunset with from the deck. If you’re genuine, warm, and up for getting your feet wet — literally — I think we’d get along wonderfully.

Fair warning: I will try to teach you to sail, and I am a patient but relentless teacher. My students say I’m encouraging until you get it right, which is true. There’s nothing like the moment the wind fills the sail and the boat just goes — I want everyone I care about to feel that. Off the water, I’m a terrible singer but I do it anyway, usually old French songs my grandfather loved. And I make a proper apéro for friends who don’t drink, because everyone deserves a real sunset toast.