À la Plage

More tourism to report. Quelle surprise. Saturday morning, bright and early, my group headed out from Bordeaux on a charter bus. After about an hour, we arrived at Les Dunes du Pilat, the largest sand dunes in Europe! I'm notreally sure what the appeal of sand dunes are - a giant pile of sand that is nearly impossible to climb up seems more like an obstacle than an attraction to me. I suppose they were impressive, though, so I put on my game face and trekked up the 40-story-equivalent dune (Side note: we did, in fact, brave the hill barefoot and opted out of using the staircase pictured to the right). I felt like a wimp when I promptly sat down atthe top and pretended as though I was too entranced by the beauty to talk, to cover up the fact that I was actually quite winded. The lie probably went unnoticed though, because the view from the top of the dunes was really, really incredible. Being from Oregon, I am used to frigid beaches with waves crashing against giant rock formations, the fog rolling in early and waters so cold that sticking a toe in is quite enough. Very beautiful in its own way, but nothing like the sight at Pilat. The dunes are completely surrounded by dense, lush deciduous forest, and the water is as blue as you'd see in a touristic postcard, if not more so. There is no shortage of sailors, fisherman, boaters of all kinds, and a large sandbar separates the shallow waters from the open ocean. After a brief repose, I decided I couldn't be out of the water any longer. It's difficult to describe the challenge that "going down to the water" presents without making me seem like a fussy child who complains about being in beautiful places, BUT it was quite the daunting task to make it all the way down to the beach, because inevitably, going down meant coming back up the outrageously large dune. But, this being my first opportunity to touch the Atlantic Ocean, it had to be worth the trek. The water could not have been more perfect. It wasn't at all cold, the ocean was calm, and there were many perfect seashells to collect (though I didn't get greedy - I've learned that lesson). And although it literally took me 30 minutes to walk back up the dunes, I've got no regrets, because it occurred to me that this may be the one time in my life that I visit that particular spot. Better to be exhausted and carry a unique experience than to be well-rested and without. However, walking at a 30-degree angle uphill in sand is still not my favorite sensation. Duly noted: dunes, not for me.

After the bus had been loaded (a few minutes late, as the hike back was long, and most of my counterparts had decided against the descent to the ocean), we set off for our second beachside location, this one in the nearby town of Arcachon. It's the equivalent of Newport or Cannon Beach in Oregon - very pretty, but very much a tourist town and very crowded on a nice summer weekend day. Being completely exhausted from the dunes, we were uninterested

by all of the adorable beach shops, and instead promptly staked out a spot on the sand and ate our picnic lunch. We've all gotten very good at making the same baguette-camembert-saucisson sandwiches every day, and while it may be monotonous, it's a fail-proof and inexpensive meal. Also perfect for the beach, as Hannah is modeling on the right. The day was really quite great. We spent several hours playing in the water, walking along the beach, napping, lazing, reading French magazines, forming some semblance of a vacation although we technically started our semesters a week ago. Being in France is like entering some kind of time vortex: everything is perfect, except for the fact that they do not recycle (and that, my friends, is a major deduction), and you think that all of the fun and lazy days we are having would make time fly! In contrast, it's been the longest week of my life. I'm beginning to doubt whether I'll ever leave, as each day seems longer and fuller than the last. I'm starting to understand why the French seem to live so much better than Americans (in terms of food, connectivity, clothing, remaining local and sustainable) - they have time for everything! Time, what I normally feel is my biggest constraint, has no meaning in this culture. They eat late, they stay out late, and they wake up early the next morning to do it all over. They've got all the time in the world to finish things that Americans can't...

This is, of course, not the real reason that the French lifestyle seems to work so well. But I haven't quite wrapped my head around that subject yet, as there are many facets to French life that I love, and some that I don't. Perhaps that is something to blog about next. But the bottom line for this post is: good weekend. good beaches. good. Also, I've been watching a few French films with my housemate, Grace, as it's a good way to listen to French speaking for extended periods of time and improve my comprehension. I highly suggest Fauberg 36, a film about a renegade performance group in 1930's Paris. Really well done, and I think it would hold the same weight with English subtitles, as it's definitely flashy and entertaining, but tugs at the heartstrings enough to keep you engaged. Check it out here.

Au revoir, tout le monde!