A cautionary tale
Pelagia noctiluca, colloquially known as the ‘mauve stinger’
No one had warned me about the jellyfish. Not the Dorling Kindersley regional guide, not the resort brochure, not the holiday rep; none of them had breathed a word about the monstrous blooms of Pelagia noctiluca currently blighting the northern reaches of the Mediterranean. It was, therefore, entirely without trepidation that I plunged into the warm, clear waters off the Côte d’Azure on that fateful morning in late July.
Mrs Tea and I had discovered an unoccupied beach along the rugged patch of coastline at the foothills of the Massif de l’Esterel, midway between St Tropez and Cannes. The sea was a little choppy after the previous night’s storm, but nothing too challenging, and I had set my sights on a rocky outcrop about 150 yards offshore, tragically unaware of the malignant forces lurking beneath the sparkling wavelets and wholly unprepared for the hellish ordeal that lay ahead.
What could possibly go wrong?
The little beach looked satisfyingly distant when I clambered triumphantly onto the rock and turned back to wave reassuringly at Mrs Tea. From my new vantage point I could see other beaches, separated by jagged buttresses thrusting out from the rust-red cliffs: to the left, another pebble-filled cove, occupied by a brace of orange canoes and their owners; to the right a much larger and more populous beach with a decent stretch of sand, beach balls, brightly-coloured buckets, families playing. This, I decided, would be my next destination.
I had covered about half the distance when the nightmare began. Without warning, an explosion of searing pain ripped through my left arm, effectively disabling it. There is a scene in the TV series, Kung Fu, where David Carradine lifts a red hot urn filled with burning coals by clamping it between his naked forearms. Flesh sizzles. Acrid smoke plumes from burning skin. That’s pretty much exactly what it felt like. The safe haven of the shore seemed suddenly very far away. Fearfully scanning the bobbing waves I soldiered on, struggling not to swim in circles like a broken wind-up bath toy.
Don’t try this at home
Subsequent research has taught me that the venom produced by Pelagia noctiluca ranks quite highly on the standard indices of pain and toxicity – I can attest to this, because that first strike turned out to be a mere aperitif. I had managed only a few strokes before a veritable apocalypse of agony tore into my abdomen. The pain was beyond description. My vision blurred and a montage of harrowing scenes from The Passion of the Christ looped feverishly through my mind. Thrashing desperately, I somehow made it back to dry land without further injury, and when I finally stumbled up onto the sandy beach, twitching and cursing like a chronic Tourettes sufferer, a man standing at the water’s edge tutted and pointed knowingly at the livid, palm-sized weal on the side of my stomach. “La Medusa”, he intoned solemnly.
One week later
Pelagia noctiluca delivers its venom by firing fusillades of tiny, toxin-filled hypodermic darts at anything that comes into contact with it. They penetrate the skin, continuing to pump out poison for days, even weeks afterwards. But for all its ferocity, this formidable biological weaponry is only effective over a very limited range. A single layer of fabric is generally enough to shield the wearer from harm. I could have protected myself, if only I had been warned. Instead, I spent the rest of that day whimpering pathetically and feeling about as comfortable as Leonardo DiCaprio after the bear attack in The Revenant.
So, to any readers who are visiting the south of France and fancy a swim in the sea, my advice is this: you need to wear a burkini.
Full face-mask plus rubber gloves and footwear also recommended
theteacaddyuk 