Following my two week vacation was two days of "work" (which is now more like babysitting for the Terminales who are preparing to take their final exam in english instead of actual teaching, which is fine by me), and yet another "Jour férié", which means bank holiday. I had no idea what or why the French were celebrating (apparently it's to commemorate the end of the 2nd World War....didn't we win that? Why are the French celebrating our victory?), but that didn't stop me from using my 5 day weekend to go camping down south! Lil' baby Geoff and I set off Wednesday morning to head towards Bordeaux and Basque Country in hopes of warm weather and lots of beach lounging.
Geoff checks out the local man meat
I was super stoked to go camping, thinking it would be like reliving all the camping trips with my family when we were young. I pumped myself up the whole week imagining campfires, s'mores, hiking, and the works, until I told Geoff about the itinerary I had in mind, and he explained that what we were doing was not "camping sauvage". Like EXCUSE ME, FRANCE. I don't know what your cultural norm is, but I'm pretty sure that sleeping in a tent in the middle of the woods is pretty "sauvage" if you ask me, regardless of whether or not there is a fire pit directly on the camping lot. Anywho, Wednesday morning rolled around and I was literally SHOCKED by the amount of items ("Les superficielles" as I referred to them) in the car, of which only a small shoulder bag, a brown paper grocery bag, and an otter were mine. Among "les superficielles" included two tables, two folding chairs, a desk lamp, a 30 foot extension chord, and a hair dryer.
So off we went on our 5 hour car trip in direction to Bordeaux. In order to pass the time, we played many nostalgic car games, including 20 questions featuring only animals, the alphabet game (which proved more difficult than normal given the absence of billboards in France), and a game in which the only rule was that you couldn't say "oui" or "non".
Once we arrived at the camping site, we promptly set up our area, using a pre-set tent called "3 Seconds Light", which instantaneously inflated once being released from it's bag (where we these tents when I was younger?!?!).
The before
The after. Ta-da!!
After a quick nap, we went down to the beach to check out our surroundings. Turns out our camping ground was placed right at the edge of a huge sand dune, which Arcachon is famous for.
RIP little fish man
The following day was pretty disgusting in terms of weather, so we decided to do some indoor activities in Bordeaux. We ended up visiting one of the oldest cave drawings in France, which was pretty cool to see. Afterwards, we went into Bordeaux's centre ville to see what else there was to do, but after walking for about 45 minutes through non-stop rain, we decided to call it a day at a nearby coffee shop before returning back to our campsite.
The next day we decided to make the best of the dunes before heading to our next destination for the evening. I can't really tell you the history of the dunes (the best I got from Geoff was that they were from Napolean's time, and that they were partially natural and partially man made), but I can tell you that today they are super huge. It took us about 45 minutes to climb the dune in it's entirety (mind you, we stopped quite a bit to take some pictures) and got some incredible views of the paragliders going over the ocean.
The view from the edge of our camping grounds
Les parapoints!
Praise allah we were not in this camp site, on the other side of the gigantic dune
Geoff on a dune!
After our big hike, we spent the rest of the day beach lounging/being harassed by screaming children who were building sandcastles and throwing things at the dead jellyfish that had washed up on shore. Animals.
The sable was pretty interesting
"Langue du chat"...accurately named
Baby crab, mama crab, daddy crab!
Then off we headed to our next destination: Biarritz! Well, we actually stayed a bit outside Biarritz, but nonetheless it was a bit further south in Basque Country. For those of you who don't know, Basque Country is an area in the south of France and north of Spain where the two countries connect which is considered by some to be it's own country since they have their own special traditions, culture, specialties, and even their own language. One of my friends from when I studied abroad had a boyfriend at the time who was from Basque country in Spain, so I knew a bit about it; that has no relation to Spanish, French, or any other romantic language, and in my opinion, sounds a bit like Slovak. Because of this these things particular to the region, they have a strong sense of community and pride within their region that is not found anywhere else in France.
Campsite: not spectacular.
While Geoff pulled a "grasse matinée" our first morning there, I decided to get up with the sun (ok not exactly with the sun, but it might as well have been, at SEVEN THIRTY AM) in hopes of finding the local market and a nice boulangerie. Instead I found the beach and some very courageous surfers who were braving the 60 degree whether and many a cloud. After about 20 minutes of watching them bob about, I got serious about my market search.
First, I went to the boulangerie under the pretense of needing a baguette, but actually in search of directions. When I first asked bread man about the marché in this area, his response was "supermarket or marché?" to which I wanted to respond "bitch, did I stutter?", but luckily restrained myself and instead just said "BAH, marché bien sûr". After I gained a tiny morsel of his respect with that comment, he gave me directions which literally included one word: "montez". Being a rational human being, I needed a little clarification so I asked which road I should take. His response: points towards window. How far should I expect to walk? Until you see it. Just this one road, no turns? Nods head. Not wanting to badger him anymore with my apparently useless questioning, I left baguette in hand not knowing what to expect.
After 20 minutes of "montez"-ing, I had nommed through half of my baguette and was fed up with bread bro's (lack of) directions so I decided to turn around and give up the search. Once I got to the bottom of the hill, I decided to pop back into the boulanger in order to let him know that I had discovered his directions were a sham, and also to replace the baguette I had accidentally eaten en route.
Once I got in there I was surprised to see how concerned he was that I had returned empty-handed. "You didn't find it?! How long did you walk? Did you see the center of town....town hall...the bank?" were his immediate questions as he pulled out his phone and pulled up the map to verify that he had given me the correct directions. Next thing I know he's asking the other customers in the store about how long it should take by foot and if it happened to be closed today while I'm standing there awkwardly waiting to pay for baguette #2. His concern for my successful market search was prescious and, as I found out later, very typical of the type of Basque hospitality and sense of community. Sidenote: we later succeeded in finding the market by car (about 100 meters farther than the point at which I decided to turn around in the morning), and had to stop into the boulangerie for baguette #3 of the day, so bread bro was kept updated with the market search.
After the market adventure, we decided to picnic on the beach, until it got too cloudy and cold, so we headed for St. Jean-de-Luz, right near the border!
One of the most striking things about St. Jean-de-Luz was the architechture. Contrary to many other sea-side towns, in Basque Country they are usually white with red/orange accents, which make me think a bit of Germany.
We stopped by a church in St. Jean-de-Luz, which apparently was built for the marriage of King Charles IV and Marie Therese, which was a condition in the agreement that ended a war between France and Spain.
Church where King Louis IV was married to Marie-Therese
We also went to a museum to learn about Basque culture. Besides their unique language and sense of pride, they are apparently also known for a special cloth that they only make in Basque Country, a special liquor that they make in the area, and a sort of sport that is similar to handball (literally played by SLAPPING a baseball against a wall) and another similar to lacrosse. They also have some crazy dances for which they wear crazy costumes.
What.
If this is what Basque gentlemen look like, I don't even want to.
After our big Basque day, we headed back to the campsite, but not before buying supplies for s'mores! I was quite adamant about us making s'mores and although Geoff made it pretty clear that he wasn't a fan of marshmallows (I took the opportunity to eat the entire bag -1 that he ate, and -1 that fell on the floor), he was kind enough to try a s'more without much forcing on my part. Since grahm crackers are clearly nonexistent in France, we had to settle for Lu's Pur Buerre Bisquits which were close, but a bit off. Also I went for the thinnest chocolate bar I could find, which was still disproportionately thick. Also because of the non-fake sugar that these freaks put in their candy, the marshmallows....errrrr.....excuse me, "chamallows" were just not quite right either.
All in all, everything was a bit off. The idea was there though.
"Chamallows"...sounds like marshmallow's moronic German kid brother (which, coincidentally, is exactly what they are)
Geoff v. Fire
Miam miam!!!
Alas, all good things must come to an end. The next day we headed back to Angers. Until the next vacation!
ming.
