We smashed into France like a day old baguette hitting an apple.
After visiting the war memorial at Fromelles, Tara and I opted to shoot through northern France and make a bee-line for the coast. The plan was to meet a swell that was due to hit Lacanau. Snowflake’s badger-like speed had the countryside whipping by in a focused blur. 9 hours, and over 100 euro in toll charges later, we pulled into Lacanau. The swell had arrived, but unfortunately the onshore wind had too, so rather than pile out into the water, we set up camp at the Grande Pins caravan park. When I say ‘caravan park’, I use the term lightly. It was in reality a plush camping resort, complete with 3 pools (one indoor and heated), wireless internet, supermarket and 2 restaurants. It was weird really, to see a camping spot with so many mod-cons. It's kind of like ‘luxury holidays’ for the middle class. We certainly weren’t complaining.
It felt so good finally being on the beach, within reach of consistent surf for an extended period of time. In a sense it was the beginning of the trip we had planned, surfari-vanning along the coasts of Europe. Every couple of days we would pack up Snowflake and shuffle another hour down the coast to discover a new break and a new part of the world. It is a very relaxing way to do things. If you’re enjoying yourself in one spot, you stay an extra day or two. If the surf drops or the camping is average, you move again.
Most of the South-West coast of France is enveloped in pine forest, which was planted by Napoleon’s army to reclaim what used to be marshland. It has transformed the area from uninhabitable swamps into a rich area, which is now one of the most popular holiday destinations in the country. For two months of the year, this coastline changes from basically a stretch of ghost-towns into packed beaches. The best thing is, that even though the sand is crowded, it’s still relatively easy to find your own little peak along the long beaches.
The best feeling in the world is surfing with just you and a friend in fun waves. Many people think surfers are crazy, waking up early in bad weather, driving for miles in search of surf, wrapping themselves in rubber and jumping into freezing water, or staying in the sun all day until they are sizzled like a burnt sausage. It is that momentary rush of joy that drives us. It’s an elation that can stoke the fires of life inside me like nothing else. It’s a feeling, which is a mix of excitement, purpose, achievement and affinity with nature. The only problem is that that feeling is fleeting, so we are driven to come back for more. Luckily the feeling isn’t dimmed with excessive use like other drugs. It is new every time, and the only thing, which can make me feel content, if only for a little while.
Tara and I had one of ‘those sessions’ one morning in a place just south of a small town called Mimizan. We got up early to beat the crowds and found a little right-hander all to ourselves. It was only 2ft, but mirror clean with the occasional nice tube. I really love seeing how excited Tara gets when she catches a good wave. If the best surfer is the person having the most fun, she’s world champ. Her smile beams out at me when she’s paddling back out from a good one. I need to take a picture of that smile one of these days, because it sums up what I feel inside every time I enter the ocean. It’s like I’m finally at home. We surfed for a couple of hours before the tide changed, and went in laughing, amazed that no-one had come out on our peak the whole time we surfed. Good times.
The next stop along the coast is Hossegor. It’s a rad little surf town, kind of like Torquay or Dunsborough in Oz. There are so many Australians living there that a lot of people give it the nickname Aussiegor. Within 5 mintues of arriving we’d run into Mark Phipps from Point Lonsdale, and heard a friend from WA, Jake Paterson was in town. It’s such a small world.
After a couple of days in Hossegor we journeyed a whopping 5 minutes down the coast to stay with Jack ‘Snit’ Stevenson and catch up with Damo Cole. It’s great to have the Torquay connection making good in foreign places. We had a few French red wines and ate Mexican food while talking Aussie shit.
There are some crazy bunkers on the beach near Snit's house in Capbreton (pictured above). They are a left over relic of WWII, and are sprayed with colourful graffiti to mask the grey visage of war. There are really good waves at the beach too. I can just imagine the empty barrels the German soldiers watched on their vigil looking out to sea.
We ventured on to Biarrtiz to stay with another Torquay friend, Andy Higgins. The first night we were there I was recruited by Andy to represent Australia in a cricket match against New Zealand. I never dreamed my international cricket career would kick off so late, but it when your country calls, you answer. Probably thanks to my bowling prowess, we got walloped by the kiwis, but cricket was the real winner on the day. The highlight was seeing the Hakka live, performed by the NZ team, who were mostly ex pro rugby players. Tara almost wet her pants with excitement.
The cool thing about staying with Andy is that we really got an insight into the French culture. He has integrated into the frog way of life, speaking the language fluently, taking us to parties where no-one speaks English as their first language and generally soaking up the culture. Andy and his lady Steph were amazing hosts and threw a sushi party with both Australian and French friends for our arrival. Andy loves taking photos almost as much as Tara, and snapped away the whole time. You can see some of his ‘hipstermatic’ photos scattered throughout this blog post.
We almost didn’t want to leave we had so much fun with Andy and Steph in Biarritz. But it was time to stash Snowflake in a driveway and make a short trip to Italy to check out The Monumental city of Rome.
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