Sandy's Motherhood Blog: Food, Fun, Fashion: Philpott Family Adventures, European Vacation 2023 (Part huit)

Today we're taking the coach on a 75-minute or so ride to the beach resort town of Arcachon, which is on a bay off the Bay of Biscay (leading to the Atlantic Ocean).

Wednesday, June 28th

We learned a little more about Arcachon as we traveled. Its greatest claim to fame is its oysters. 70% of the world's oysters are grown from "seeds" from Arcachon oysters. Also, the largest sand dune in Europe, the Dune du Pilat, is located just south of Arcachon (another coach is headed there for the day).

Note: We (purposely) missed yesterday's on-board oyster tasting, and will not be eating any oysters here. I'm fine with escargot, frogs' legs, stinky cheese, and lots of other French delicacies, but I draw the line at oysters.

The area leading to Arcachon is also known for its pine woods, with thick pine forests lining the highway as we approach. It smells wonderful, until we approach the local paper mill, then it smells...not so wonderful. But fortunately, before long we get close enough to the beach that the fresh sea air takes over. The town itself has the look of a typical high-end beach town in the US, with boutique hotels mixed in with small cottages (often with charming names over the door or on the gate) stacked in terraces angling away from the beachfront, and cozy restaurants and kitschy shops right along the beach. It reminded my husband of San Diego. I loved how lush the gardens were, with many buildings having rooftop gardens and window boxes as well as yard gardens and landscaping. And there were LOTS of palm trees. France as a whole is a lot more tropical than I expected, plantwise, but Arcachon is even more so.

We walked across the beach to a jetty that was advertising boat trips taking a small loop around the bay, but decided that would take up too much of our limited time. So we enjoyed watching the boats and the fishermen on the dock. One of the fishermen had brought a small squid in a bucket as bait, which enthralled several young boys (and a few not so young).

The left side of the beach was the main section, with more sunbathers, shops, and what appeared to be a few carnival rides at the far end, so we walked that way just enjoying the scenery. We stumbled across a scene from a movie being shot. We were told it starred a famous French comedic actor named Dany Boon, and the scene looked like a music video, with a young man playing the pan flute, lip-synching, and dancing while a pretty girl "played" the keyboard, and then a band of pan flute players wearing colorful serapes and Panama hats joined them on stage. There were several PAs manning the barriers to shush the crowd and discourage us from taking photos, but we snuck one in from a distance.

We took advantage of the comfortable benches along the walkway to take a break from the hot sun and enjoy the flowers.

At the end of the boardwalk, there was a carousel and a bumper-car ride, both of which seemed to not be open for the season yet. We also spied a "bride and groom" who appeared to be doing a modeling shoot, based on the lack of chemistry while approaching the beach and the smoldering chemistry once the camera was set up. (I counted this as my first bride sighting of the trip; by the time we left London I'd spotted 10 brides!)

Just past the rides there was another jetty with fishermen. While Herb walked out to chat with them, I walked down to the water to put my feet in, just so I could say I had. The water was warm enough to be pleasant but cool enough to be refreshing.

We stopped for a cold soda in a little market and I noticed that this fruit display listed the countries of origin for each item: mangoes from Cote d'Ivoire, figs from Portugal, limes from Brazil, pears from Belgium, oranges from Egypt.

We found a large public garden with a steep path winding up the hill, but fortunately for my aching feet, there was also a cool underground tunnel leading to a lift. Even more fortunately for my aching bladder, there was also a free public toilet at the top. Public toilets are extremely rare in France, and frequently require a Euro or even two to use. This particular bathroom was a single stall that locked automatically when you entered and had lighted symbols on the mirror indicating soap, water, and hand dryer, then when you left it locked automatically again while it flushed and sanitized itself, then turned on an exterior indicator that it was ready for the next user. To be honest, it was almost worth a Euro.

Not the actual bathroom I used, but very similar. Also, not my wine bottles but also a very typical sight.

When it was time to head back to the boat, we passed by several very exclusive marinas. Our guide informed us that the large one closest to the beach had a waiting list of THIRTY YEARS, and it was common for yacht owners to pass their place in line down to their children.

We grabbed a late lunch of carrot and herb soup and hearty bread back on board, then relaxed on our balcony as we prepared to head for Bourg (which is pronounced BOOR but ending with a rolling French R and an almost inaudible phlegmy noise that has absolutely no English equivalent - I eventually mastered pronouncing terroir but Bourg is beyond me). The tide had risen so much that the gangway was at eye level with our cabin! We bid the pirate ship au revoir as we sat down to dinner (following our daily nap and pre-dinner cocktail, of course).

I somehow failed to write down or take a picture of our main course for dinner, but it doesn't really matter because the star of the show was the citron tart for dessert, which was literally the most delicious thing I have ever eaten in my entire life. The pastry was crisp and buttery but not too rich, the lemon curd was not overly sweet or overly tart but was perfectly balanced, the French meringue on the tart was soft and pillowy and perfectly golden brown, and the dollop of Italian meringue on the plate was light and crispy. Heaven on a plate.