Enough time has elapsed since we’ve been here in the Gironde for us to have forgotten the way to Le Gurp, so Mrs Garmin has to guide us but the nearer we get the more we recall- villages we’ve cycled to, shops we’ve patronised, bars we’ve had a drink in. Of course, most of this area is sparsely populated and is pine forest- one part that escaped the devastating wildfires of this summer.
Once we’re at the roundabout at the top of the road to the site it’s all very familiar. Not a lot has changed at this site, although it looks as if the shower blocks have had a minor revamp. They are still basic- narrow shower cubicles with little light and nowhere to place anything except the floor.
It isn’t busy. We trundle round to our allocated pitch [they aren’t marked out but we’ll be wanting electricity] and are immediately stopped by a young, breathless German who wants us to go the other side of the road ‘so that he can be with his friends’. I point out that there’s no electric points on the other side and he pipes down. His ‘friends’ appear to be a group of young girls in tents who subsequently hardly seem to register his existence.
Our immediate problem is that the ground is soft sand and we’re very likely to get stuck- not a scenario we relish, although I admit to a little schadenfreude when young Germans car gets stuck. We go to the pitch next door, which is fine and has the advantage of putting more distance between us and the young Germans [who turn out to be a very quiet and trouble-free bunch of girls].
Next we plug in and get no response from the electric point. Hmm…Eventually a man arrives. The site has ‘reverse polarity’ meaning we need a special lead. The man turns it all back on and we’re sorted.
We started coming here when we were still tent camping, more than 20 years ago. There is this, the campsite, then a road over a bridge takes you to a row of cafe/bars,a pizza takeaway, a couple of shops [surf, bakery, small supermarket], a laundry and some eccentric ancient amusement arcade machines. The supermarket is closed for end of season but the bakery is still opening daily and the cafe/bars are still trading. Hooray!
Then there is the beach- a vast, wide expanse of soft white sand where the Atlantic waves roll in, crashing in a riot of foam. To the right the beach goes on and on to the horizon. To the left there are remnants of concrete WW2 defences that are gradually sinking into the sand and have been graffitied, most quite competently, This place is adored by surfers.
The sky is a cloudless blue. Having reminded ourselves of the beach, we turn back and into a bar where we can relax at last with a beer. We’ve stocked up en route and will grab a meal at one of the cafe/bars while here.
Next day. Husband sets off for a bike ride. Tarmac cycle tracks criss-cross the forests everywhere around here and over the years we’ve cycled most of them. Now that we’re here, I begin to miss my bike very much. It’s still too soon after hip surgery for me to cycle. As Husband pedals off, I set off to walk around the site- and this is no mean feat, as it covers a massive area.
As I walk, I’m reminded of some of our experiences here: once with our tent when there was a relentless deluge of rain and we drove across to a village, found a random restaurant and had a wonderful meal, once when a circus arrived and I went to look at the tethered camels and the disconsolate lion slumped behind bars in his prison cage. We’ve done countless cycle rides- to Soulac, a bustling seaside town, to Montalivets, a tiny seaside place nearby and past ‘Euronat’, the largest naturist resort in Europe. Of course, you will encounter naturists on most French beaches and Le Gurp is no exception, but here you will pass by naked cyclists in the woods too- always a vaguely bizarre sight!
It’s fun to see the various rigs and set-ups around the site as I walk- and many hammocks strung between the trees- one serving as a tent, too!
Husband has not returned when I get back and time ticks on past lunch time so I begin to contemplate ringing him…then my phone rings…
Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com
