La Vague de Chaleur (Aug. 2003)
A Blue Flag Adventure (Aug. 2002)
Patio Talk (Aug. 2002)
Decoder Rings (Sept. 2002)
Eeyore and Tigger (Oct. 2002)
Wonder Woman Hangs from a Wire (Dec. 2002)
Serves Two (June 2003)
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A Blue Flag Adventure
August 2002
A Blue Flag Adventure
We packed the kids into the mini-van, plugged in the "vcr-in-a-bag" and set off from Annecy and traveled west for L'Ocean Lacanau (Lack-a-no) on the Atlantic coast. It's not too far, we thought, plus we aren't cool enough for St. Tropez. Most of the drive was on the swift autoroute, then on small winding roads through the hillsides of Vulcania, the route de foie gras, rue des noix (nut road) and round the round-a-bouts of Bordeaux until the signs we were looking for eventually appeared. Eight hours, two arguments pertaining to navigation, and a couple of Happy Meals later, we arrived.
Why Lacanau? You ask. Are there beautiful castles? Does it have an important cultural significance like a special food or festival? Was the battle of Lacanau instrumental for Napoleon, Charlemagne, or Roquefort? No, quite simply, it was to find waves, white sand, and a cloudless sky at non St. Tropez prices.
The hotel we booked was well situated on the boardwalk. In fact it is the only hotel on the boardwalk and it has prices to reflect the boardwalk monopoly. The room was tiny and simple, but clean. On the first day we seriously wondered how we would squeeze ourselves into this particular sardine box. A double bed, a single bed, and a roll away seemed to take up more surface area than the fire marshals would have allowed. At night, when everyone was lying down there was no room to walk. "Hold the bladder till morning" and "Wear your shin guards" were the words of warning.
Space seems to be a new and ever changing concept for us since we moved to France. In the United States we are used to plenty of space between our home and our neighbors. There are beaches so big that towels would never have to touch and ski runs where you turn to find only the moguls behind you. There are cars so large that passengers can't see the driver and freeways where only the cow on the sidelining field knows you've past. We are used to space. But with every passing experience here in the land of "petite" we are finding that our "space tolerance" is expanding. Is that an oxymoron?
For instance, even though the beach was huge and expansive everyone decided to spread his or her towel next to ours. Of course, we also spread our towels next to others, sometimes benefiting from the shade of their umbrella. We didn't mind. We were astonished that we didn't mind. We swam in waters crowded with others. We walked the boardwalk crowded with others. We shopped, and drove, and dined in spaces crowded with others. We didn't mind.
We did mind how the lifeguards controlled our swimming experiences. Here is how it goes. There is a main beach with serious lifeguards that are aptly named "nautique police". They are fit, tan, and persistent. They don't smile, flirt with topless girls, or hand out band-aids to injured children. The process goes something like this: they plant two blue flags in the wet sand, approximately 100 yards apart, and then carry their twenty foot high two-seater nautique police chair so it rests in-between in order to keep a close eye on all the swimmers. Your job, as a swimmer, is to spend all your energy battling the current to stay between the flags. If you go out too far into the deep (their determination) or outside of the flags they will let you know by loud bleeps from their air horns, long intense blows of their whistles, and frantic waving of their swim fin gripping hands. If the current takes you way outside the flags, or you choose to swim wherever you think you can (your determination) then the small white lifeguard car races down the beach at 50mph and tanned boys hop out to whistle and wave their fins at you until you evacuate the water. It's all very serious. Unfortunately, we couldn't appreciate the seriousness of the situation so eventually the kids were saying things like "I can't stand lifeguards" or "Let's just go swim where we want". I wonder where they got those ideas?
Midweek we decided to take a day away from Lacanau and all it's activity and fin waving. We drove north about forty minutes to a little town called Montalivet. It is a small beach town of about two hundred residents. We had some friends staying at an all inclusive beach club just outside of town. They had invited us for the day so we joined them for lunch. We arrived just in time for the cattle call to chow. We joined four hundred others for an intimate stand in line meal. Nothing quite like getting away from it all.
After lunch we headed to their private beach secretly hoping that there would be no bullhorns, nor touching towels. What we found was heaven. Rolling waves, miles and miles of people-less beach, parading nudists from the "naturaliste" resort up the beach, and no blue flags. But at 2:30pm everything changed. The blue flags came out, the volleyballers jumped in the air, the parading nudists quadrupled their swinging, and the lifeguard waved his fins at the non-speedo wearing Americans to retreat from the "dangereux" water. We gave up and dutifully swam between the blue flags. The resistance was a lonely battle and we were losing, but in a way, we didn't seem to mind.
On the last day in Lacaunau we decided to walk 50m down the beach away from the main crowd. We spread our towels and noticed that no one was near us, there wasn't a blue flag in sight, and from where we were the crashing of the waves drowned out the air horn from the main beach. We loved it. We felt our lungs expand and our nerves calming. The kids played in the waves all day riding their boogie boards wherever they wanted. Incredible to think that freedom was just a short walk down the beach from control. But still, we thought back to how we didn't mind everyone walking on our towel at the other beach, and we were pleased with our expanding space tolerance.
As we drove away at 5:30 the next morning we decided that next time we would ask for a smaller room. In the end we didn't need all that extra space at the foot of our beds. Maybe we should bring the dog, too!
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