Time flies when you’re having fun!
Linda has to go back to the Netherlands while I still have three days left. We discuss our options: Me, staying on the current camp site feels too much left behind. Turn East and stretch the way back over five days feels like shortening the holidays. Finally, Linda goes to see some of Bordeaux centre, but gets handicapped by the European football championship: all baggage rooms and lockers are closed for safety reasons and Bordeaux with your luggage drawn behind is less fun.
Although Bordeaux must be beautiful, I am drawn to the coast to see some more waves. The nice German surfer that I met in my second week mentioned a pretty good camp site at Carcans, so after a big hug and farewell to Linda I turn slightly North and head for the one and only camping at Carcans-Plage.
I look for surfer’s atmosphere and in fact that is all that Carcans-Plage is about. Three restaurants, two snack bars and a ragtag music bar spread out over a hand full of tiny roads. Two souvenir shops, a supermarket and three surf shops, accompanied by a surf school and a camp site – there surely is a clear focus on touristic beach life. Even though the landscape with dunes und forest is a playground for further activities, I am fine with the beach and a rental surf board for the next days.
The beach and the weather work hand in hand with temperatures up to > 30°C. Due to yesterday’s full moon, the waves come up quite powerful and the current here is stronger compared to Vieux Boucau, but the beach surely is inviting. The afternoons fly by between warm sand and a swim (sort of) in the atlantic waves, while the morning hours are perfect for surfing practice.
The days at Carcans motivate me to continue with surfing until I am good enough for the change to agile fiberglass boards. The “mousse” boards that I currently use are just too heavy for a girl like me and the distance of 1000 meters from the shop to the perfect waves. Well, I wanted to exercise more anyway, so for these days I am fine. With Vincent’s guidance running through my head I try to read the coastline and identify the ideal spot with gentle swell and harmless current. Soon enough I start with my routine of jumping on the board, steering left and right and get carried along by the whitewash.
Between surfing and beaching, the camp site offers relaxed and basic circumstances: Hector is parked among other solo travellers, all surfers (what else). The Swiss guy chills in his hammock while Pete from Australia plays the guitar. Some clichés are just perfect when they hit real life!
On Friday, I start running out of time: I have to go back to work and this is the only reason why I turn the engine and drive 1.000 km straight East. After 12 hours of driving, my step-brother and my sister-in-law welcome me with luxurious dinner and with my new nephew from Kabul. When I lay down in the guest room I slightly miss the wind rocking my bed and the humming sound of Hector’s control panel. 4 weeks of holiday have not stopped my travel bug at all…