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100 years of the last journey  
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large product photo January 9 1910

It is about 13 hours. The Général Chanzy, a mail ship of the Compagnie Générale Transatlantique, departs of Marseilles port to Algiers. The ship didn't arrived.

This site is a tribute to the victims and to all the people who have contributed to keep its memory alive during these 100 years.


“…The majority of the men feel very proud of his witness, of the permanency of his intentions. They are consistent as the steel of a broken or rusty compass, and this looks like to them a great virtue. They know to where they go, wherefrom they come. Every step in the way of the life they take it counted and calculated. If we listen to them, they will say to us: «let's not stop to contemplate the sea or the stars; it is not necessary to be relaxing. The way waits. We run the risk of not coming to the end». The end! What illusion! There is no end in the life. The end is a point in the space and in the time, not more transcendental than the previous point or the following one...”

“…The worry for obtaining an end uncalms all the men, even to the most unscrupulous, even to the most indolent...”

“…Really the sea annihilates us and consumes us, exhausts our fantasy and our will. Her infinite monotony, her infinite changes, her immense loneliness drags us to the contemplation.

These green, tame waves, these whitish foams where our pupil rocks, are rubbing like our soul, spoiling our personality, up to making her purely contemplative, up to identifying her with the nature

We want to understand the sea, and do not understand it; we want to find a reason, and we do not find it. It is a monster, an incomprehensible sphinx; dead is the laboratory of the life, inert is the representation of the constant worry. Often we suspect if there would be hidden something as a lesson in it; some moments one supposes to have deciphered her mystery; in others, her education escapes from us and gets lost in the reflection of the waves and in the hiss of the wind. All, without knowing why, we suppose to the sea woman, we all provide her with an instinctive and changeable, enigmatic and perfidious personality.

In the nature, in the trees and in the plants, there is a vague shade of justice and of kindness; in the sea, not: the sea smiles us, caresses us, threatens us, squashes us capricious...”

Pío Baroja. “Las Inquietudes de Shanti Andía”