In which Normandy stuns with stones and skies. Part II.

 

The destination for our third sleep was Les Pieux, or rather, the tiny village of Sciotot on the coastal side of town. We found the town, found the road to the beach, and after many a turn in the bend, were suddenly slammed with a golden sunrise as we descended toward the open sea. We parked in front of some very funky flowers in a recreation area and I, for one, ran flailing out of the vehicle with my camera.

 

There was still the sleeping question and, as we figured popping the tent out there by the beach in such a public area would be frowned upon, decided to go find the nearby campground, where we snagged the second to last plot and acquired some new bovine neighbors. No sooner had the car been parked and I was running toward the beach again. There was a sunset to attend to, and it just kept getting better. There was a minor freak out involved, and a lot of cold, hard wind. It was exhilarating.

 

As it turns out, that kind of adrenaline rush will make a person hungry. We thus put up the tend in the fading light and got to the preparation of late-night-candlelight ratatouille on the GRD-era Gas Cooker. Loads of fresh French garlic, oregano from my favorite German market, and just enough New Mexican paprika later, divine indulgence. Sleeping that night happened to the sound of waves, but not until the French Schlager band at the pool disco had packed up for the night. Wild camping was sounding more and more luxurious as each terrible song morphed into another and another. There we go with the trade offs again, I suppose.

 

 

The next day started in a cool, gray fashion. The Fellow Roadtrippers slapped on wetsuits and hit the waves and I made myself at home on the beach, drinking tea in my PJs on the waterproof picnic blanket. A couple older men with a tractor pulling a motor boat attempted to get the boat into the water, but the waves just chuckled and spit it back at them again and again until they gave up and drove back into the mist from whence they'd come.

 

After taking advantage of glorious, hot running water to cleanse dirty bodies and dishes, we left the camping ground and made ourselves comfy back at the recreation area on the other side of the beach. There was more surfing and I did some exploring of the area and a lot of ogling the beautiful, beautiful stones on the beach. At one point I noticed signs for "camping cars" and decided to inquire at the little lifeguard hut about the possibility of putting up our tent there for the night. "Ouais, ouais, il n'y a pas de soucis!" ("Yeah, yeah, no worries!") replied the smiley young woman, nodding ferociously. New note to self: when in doubt, just ask, dummy. As this was a brilliant beach, we decided to stay another night.

 

 

 

We put up the tent in the most sheltered corner of the field we could find, as the wind had free reign over the beach and wasn't shy about using it. There was a little party going on at a beach bar a good way away, at which the rock band was getting a lot of attention from its small crowd. No Schlager this time, thank goodness. Eventually the lights dimmed and sound of the rock band turned into a lone gypsy fiddle playing on the wind. Play on, mon ami.

A few hours later came the storm. Rain splattered with all its might and gusts of wind lashed the tent like a cracking whip, and just as loudly, too. When the sky started getting lighter, I decided to adventure outside to assess the situation. I therefore snuck out as quietly as I could (not like it mattered) and was quite surprised to find that it was windy, yes, but only minimally raining. Then I looked up. Then I turned around. Then I started running around like the wild, wild wind. Not only was the dawn sky awash with color over the hills, the air itself over the beach and water was shimmering pink and a rainbow and a half was flaunting its way from one side of the horizon to the other.

 

Apparently this kind of masterpiece only comes about before semi-apocalyptic weather patterns, as the next clouds that rolled in sent us scrambling to stuff all of our wet things into the vehicle and get moving before the skies opened up again. It was time to take our adventure south. I was sad to leave Normandy, but excited to see what was to come next. In retrospect, the beach in Les Pieux (and this part of France) was by far my favorite of the whole trip. It wasn't particularly warm, but it was beautiful and interesting in a way that best spoke to my standards. Some of its striped and spotted stones found their way back to Hamburg, for which I am thankful. Its skies, too, will forever have a place on my hard drive.