Surfin’ France

France – August 2016

You already read about a road trip through southern France and the Pays Basque in a previous blog post. Today’s topic is how I fell in love with the French Atlantic coast. It all begins in the spring of 2016 when 3 of my childhood friends and I book a surf trip to Moliets-et-Maa. Fast-forward a few months later, the 4 of us board the long-distance bus in Bern on a sunny July afternoon. We’ve just spent 2 weeks together at a scout’s summer camp and two of us (obviously I am one of them) are battling a cold. So we’re ready for another week of long nights, daily exercise and socializing…

When we arrive at the Pure Surf camp in Moliets the next morning, our new friends from Hamburg have a 24-hour journey behind them. Nevertheless, they are the first ones to grab their Dakine, Carhartt and Billabong travel bags and drag them across the sandy floor of the pine tree forest. Once all of us have made it to the camp’s outdoor hangout area, the leaders welcome us and guide us through the program of the week to come. We book tickets for the trips to San Sebastián, Biarritz and a major folk party the Germans keep calling “Fat Bayonne“.

With our wallets a little lighter, we are finally shown to our bungalow. But we only have time to drop our bags, because it’s now time for the wetsuit fitting before the first surf lesson in the afternoon. The squeezing into and peeling off of that sticky piece of clothing is a heavy warm-up, and I am not looking forward to doing this every day for the next week. But before we’re putting it on once again, we go on a little excursion of the close-by town to find some food. At the main promenade, we buy some baguettes, melon and ham which we make into a delicious lunch at the camp.

And then it’s time for our first time surfing. Luckily, we do not have to carry any surfboards down the grassy dune path, as some other people already had lessons earlier that day. So we arrive at the beach rather fresh. It’s not too hot and there is a nice breeze blowing. Our instructor Alex introduces himself and then has everybody else summarize their surf experience. Once that’s done, the group warm-up (AKA my personal nightmare) begins. We stretch our legs and arms, run in circles on the cold sand and up and down the dunes. By now I am already exhausted and question my decision to come here. But this is only the beginning. Now we get our surfboards and Alex teaches us the basics of surfing on the beach.

Half an hour or so later, we can finally put our newly acquired skills to test. The 6 of us tie the leashes around our ankles, grab the boards and run into the refreshing waters of the Atlantic. We paddle out to where Alex is waiting for us, weightlessly sitting on his surfboard, at one with the sea. He gives us a sign for when a wave is coming, and it’s time to get paddling back towards the beach. All of us catch a couple of waves, but no-one is able to stand up just yet. Another hour later, we return to shore with tired arms and a few bruises on our legs. I am completely exhausted and my cough got worse. But we’re not done yet. As we’re the last group of the day, we have the honour of carrying all the surfboards back up to the camp, while Alex straps his own to his bicycle and swiftly pedals up the path towards the forest.

After a quick shower and rinsing of the wetsuits, it’s dinnertime. Together with a guy from Basel, we grab a table in the kitchen tent and wait for our turn to get some deliciously smelling pasta. The next item on the official agenda is an introduction to the village’s nightlife. However, clever as we are, my friends and I and the guy from Basel decide to pre-game with a quick round of Beer pong on our porch. I do not remember much from that evening, except for having eaten at least 2 Beignets (traditional French doughnuts).

The next day we return to the beach in the afternoon for another surf lesson, and in the evening the instructors gather everyone for a presentation on the formation of waves. However, I now have a full-on cold, and 5 minutes into the presentation get a violent attack of dry cough. I just can’t stop coughing and resort to our bungalow to not further interrupt the instructor’s talk. The only problem was that our bungalow was located right next to the place they held the presentation. And the wooden walls did not keep the noise of my coughing inside at all…

The rest of the week we spend at the beach, hanging out on the beautifully constructed chill-out lounge at the camp, watching skate competitions and exploring the Basque Country with our new friends. I wasn’t very successful at the surfing part, but I had a great time in Moliets nevertheless. And who knows, I might give surfing another try in warmer waters where one doesn’t have to put on a wetsuit.