Clara, 24

I grew up in Villefranche-sur-Mer, a tiny fishing village in a deep blue bay just east of Nice, and the sea was my backyard. My grandfather was a fisherman, and I spent my childhood on his boat, learning the names of fish, watching dolphins ride the bow wave, and listening to his stories about how the sea used to be — clearer, fuller, wilder. When I was twelve, we found a sea turtle tangled in plastic on the beach, and my grandfather and I spent the whole afternoon carefully freeing it. I cried when it swam away. I think that was the moment I knew what I wanted to do with my life.

I am 24 now and I volunteer with a marine conservation association based in Villefranche, while finishing my master’s degree in marine biology in Nice. My work is a mix of everything: beach clean-ups, monitoring seagrass meadows, helping with sea turtle nesting surveys in the summer, and talking to schoolkids about the Mediterranean. People think conservation is all diving with dolphins; a lot of it is counting tiny things in spreadsheets and picking up bottle caps at 7am. But then there are the days when you release a rehabilitated turtle and watch it disappear into the blue, and you remember exactly why you do it.

Nice is home base, and I love this city deeply. I live in a small studio in the port area, and my mornings often start with a swim — year-round, because the Mediterranean here is swimmable almost all year if you are brave, and I am. Then a boulangerie run for a pissaladière slice or a pain au chocolat, eaten on the walk to the lab. The Cours Saleya market is my weekend ritual: flowers, socca eaten hot from the paper, and the best tomatoes you will ever taste. On my days off, I take the little train or the bus back to Villefranche, to my parents’ house above the bay, where my mother makes the best pan bagnat in the world and my grandfather — retired now — still tells his stories.

My weekends are split between the sea and the city. Saturdays might mean a clean-up dive with the association, or a hike in the hills behind Èze with friends, the whole coastline spread out below us. Sundays are for the slow things: a long lunch, a walk on the Promenade des Anglais, reading on the pebble beach at Villefranche with the water lapping at my feet. The apéritif here is a glass of rosé from Provence, some olives, tapenade on good bread, watching the sun set over the Cap Ferrat. I also love to snorkel — the bay at Villefranche is a marine reserve, and on a calm morning you can see octopus, starfish, and schools of silver fish flashing in the light. It never gets old.

I am gentle but determined — the sea taught me that softness and strength go together. I am patient, I listen well, and I get very excited about small things: a seahorse sighting, a perfect tomato, a good book. I am looking for a partner who cares about the world and acts like it. You do not need to be a marine biologist — but I want someone who will pick up litter on a beach without being asked, who will come snorkeling with me and actually look, who believes that small actions matter. Someone kind, curious, and a little bit adventurous, who loves the sea as much as I do or is willing to learn. If you will swim with me in October and share a socca on the Cours Saleya afterward, I think we will get along beautifully.

A little more about my world: I am a volunteer guide at the Oceanographic Museum in Monaco a few weekends a year, and I love watching children’s faces when they see the aquariums for the first time — that wonder is exactly what I felt as a kid on my grandfather’s boat. I am also part of a local group that organizes “plogging” runs — jogging while picking up litter — along the Promenade des Anglais, which is exactly as fun as it sounds. I keep a nature journal with sketches of everything I see underwater, and my dream is to one day publish a small illustrated guide to the marine life of the French Riviera for kids. My grandfather, now 87, still comes to the beach with me sometimes, sitting in the shade while I swim, telling the same stories I have heard a hundred times — and I never stop him, because one day those stories will be all I have left of those afternoons. I want a partner who understands that kind of tenderness: someone who will sit with my grandfather and listen, who will learn the names of the fish with me, and who believes the sea is worth protecting — one beach, one turtle, one small action at a time.