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In Which I Eat my Words
August 29, 2007 by Mike
Arcachon
Route: Bordeaux - Margaux - Arcachon
My good friend Liselle has been looking at the map on her wall.
"You're heading towards Arcachon. It's got a lovely sand dune," she wrote.
"Errr.. there's a lot of sand on the coast, Liselle."
That'll teach me. The dune, at Pyla, is huuuuuuuge. It's fantastic to see.. even better to climb up.. and even better when you run down the other side -- 100 metres steep and soft and, well, sandy, to the beach and the sea. I felt like a kid again. (That's not to say that I felt like a kid last week, or even last year: it means I felt like a kid again after about 30 years. *gulp*)
The view from the top of the dune is the stuff of fantasy. Far, far below, a turquoise sea. Motorboats motoring and sailboats sailing, the white wake of each cutting a gash through the blue; across the bay, Cap Ferrat - the kind of exclusive resort where rock stars and politicos hang out (Raymond Barre, who died last week, lived there.) Above and beyond, smiling down on all of us, a yellow sun in a blue sky.
It's a child's painting: A Beautiful Summer's Day, by Mike with aged 5-and-a-half.
--
I arrived this morning via the vineyards of the west bank of the Gironde - Medoc, Marguax, Haut-Medoc and more. That means I saw my first truly top-notch, first growth, premier cru vineyard: Lafitte-Rothschild. In fact, they don't get much top-notcher than Lafitte-Rothschild. Workers out in the fields, making last-minute preparations for next weeks' harvest, were wearing top hat and tails, presumably so the wine gets used to the kind of hi-faluttin' company it'll be keeping in the years to come. As I parked up to take some photographs I felt like I was gatecrashing a party I was never going to get invited to.
But things were good. Again -- and this happens so often I'm starting to believe Harry Potter is looking out for me -- I rode in sunshine with rain on all sides. As I followed the banks of the Gironde north, the rain was clearly visible on the other bank, to my right. It was raining to my left. It was raining behind me. Once, when I stopped in a small village square to take a couple of photos, it caught up with me. I felt hot globs of wet rain splatter on the helmet. I fired up the Bonnie and moved north -- not fast -- and within seconds it was dry again; in a minute sunny. I looked in the rear-view mirrors and behind me rain clouds loomed and the village was being deluged.
I rode 100km from Bordeaux up to the end of the Gironde estuary at Verdon. There's a ferry north to Royan. Where, clearly visible, the sun was shining. Tempting, but I eased the nose round to the south and headed towards Arcachon. Where I had seen the rain, minutes before, the roads were soaked but the clouds parted to reveal yet more sunshine.
I arrived in Arcachon in late afternoon stone dry and stone sober. And I stayed dry, at least, for the rest of the night.
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