Opening the shutters reveals the drizzle still hanging ever so slightly in the air, but today is looking better than yesterday. We walk around the town as the sun tries to shine. The cloisters, the church, the baths, the cobbled streets ... all looking gorgeous.
The wine shops are in full swing even at 10am. We go into a building that showcases wine from the area. There is a sniff test you can do - open the contraption, take a sniff and push the button of the aroma you think it is. All wine related of course. A light appears if you are correct.
Rose, blackcurrant, honey, licorice and more. It's fun.
We have breakfast at the boulangerie and then wander back up to our hotel. But not before an encounter with a chicken oddity. We are by the ancient archway and I hear the strangest sound. It is like curdled cackling and it comes from a nearby overgrown garden, behind a grilled gate. It is loud and bizarre but I can't source its owner. And then, out from under the rambling blooms comes ... well, what exactly is it!? A defrocked chicken I think! It is a shambles of ragged feathers, little beak poking through a spiked punk hairdo. Oh chicken, or whatever you are, you are ugly but I like you. It struts round in front of me, safe behind the gate, but it will not make its strange cackle sound for me. It looks at me as though I am stranger than it. It may be onto something there. I walk down the lane and leave it to its odd existence.
We leave St Emilion behind. It was a great little place for a stopover.
Heading for Biarritz, Brett is at the wheel. Connie guides us well although we find ourselves in a tangle as we aim to bypass Bordeaux (we don't have time to explore), taking the wrong roundabout exit and having to backtrack a bit. Otherwise navigation is going well.
Nevertheless, we do a welcome drive exchange (!) at a motorway pit stop and continue heading south west. It is raining, the windscreen wipers are going constantly, and it is utterly dismal outside our cosy warm car. At some points the rain is so heavy it is hard to see to drive. But be assured, I can see and am happy at the wheel.
Nearing Biarritz, we divert and take a look at Hossegor and Capbreton to its north. Long expanses of caramel-coloured sand stretch for miles. Both are surfing hotspots, but not today. We hurry through the rain to get a good look at what is most certainly a beautiful part of the world, especially for beach and surf lovers. The holiday season is over and the weather is being unkind. The promenades and cafes on the seafront are empty or closed. This place would be heaving in the busy summer months but today it is largely deserted, like an abandoned amusement park.
Onwards we go, through Bayonne, and we arrive in Biarritz. Friends Marie and Charles had recommended Hotel de la Plage, a small 3* hotel on the 'old beach'. It had been full when we checked bookings previously but we spot it, love it, pull over and try our luck. OMG our luck is in, they have a room on the second floor, with sea view and balcony. It is small and sparsely furnished, but in good taste, with arty touches. The views are absolute perfection. Turrets, arches, golden sands, blue seas, craggy rocks, a bridge, restaurants, bars, shops, terraces, beautiful people, swimmers, surfers, wanderers, joggers, cyclists, young, old. The best of Biarritz is right outside our balcony. Marie, I do declare you undersold the magic of this hotel ... We absolutely love it, especially its location! Better would be hard to find anywhere. (NB: turns out we stayed in the exact same room as Marie and Charles did a year earlier! We also found out that the room was available because of the dire weekend weather forecast and subsequent cancellations. Sometimes bad weather does good things!)
Alas, there is a little drizzle about but it is harmless, and who cares ... we are in Biarritz! 'Beach of Kings'. Beautiful place.
We settle in and wander up the road, past lovely shops and lively bars. The vibe is classy surf town. Hunks in board shorts carrying surfboards under their arms blend in with bronze sun-kissed young girls of great beauty out for a stroll. French chic and surf culture collide. La Grand Plage, the main beach, with its lighthouse at the far end, looks fabulous but with dark clouds out to sea, now is not the time linger. We will investigate further tomorrow.
It is wine o'clock and it's threatening to bucket down, the clouds look angry indeed What better reason to head to one of the many bars! The wine is cheap at €3 a glass. It's good, too.
The weather means we sit inside but we find a cozy nook by an open window and sit amongst the cool and beautiful people. The French seem to wear tattoos better and more openly than most and the bars are for all ages and types. Surf chicks over there, dudes at that table, plenty of 'deux homes'. And then us mature tourist types. Old and young mix together. Suffice to say this mature Kiwi couple sat very happily amongst it all!
Time for dinner. We wander further into town, the weather calmer now, and find a nice eatery that specialises in brochettes (things on skewers!) I have the gambas (prawns) which come swinging from a metal contraption, having been impaled much like a medieval criminal. Ergh. But yum. We chat with a couple, en vacance from La Rochelle. They have swinging skewers too.
Brett caps his meal off with an Eau de vie, poire William, which he has acquired a taste for since Grolejac. He sleeps soundly and I stay up half the night writing. My mind is on fire and my blog is behind. Not to mention having been commissioned, on the road, to do another article for next issue of Destinations Magazine. Topic is 'imagination and creativity' and how these entwine with travel. Deadline is a week. My mind and iPad will be busy with more word engineering, but it can and will be done, written in a series of beautiful places, and with imaginings and creations happening as I go! Do look out for the issue mid-October... Entitled 'Where the Wild Things Are' it will have a couple of my articles in it, including one on masks.
I write until I can write no more, switching the iPad off around 2.30am. It is my latest night of the trip. Whilst we have wined and dined and enjoyed meals out and evening roaming, we have been reasonably restrained overall. I think they call it being sensible!
And now, to sleep, perchance, to dream ...
Observation of the Day: This is truly where French style and surf culture collide. Where holiday meets every day. Where old blends with new to create the exceptional. Where sand and cobbles go hand in hand. Where surging waves mix with sheltered bathing. Where people are bronzed and beautiful and people-watching is pure pleasure. It is a true Surf City. So much more glorious than I had anticipated, and I'm not even a surfer!
...so so enjoying reading your blog Sally (even re-reading parts). Even better was that you managed to stay at our little hidey-hole in Biarritz... glad we could 'share the love'!
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