GRAVIERE

 

43° 50' 08'' N - 1° 23' 47'' W

I'd salvaged my father's old sedan, the one he never took out for fear of breaking down and having to engage in insurmountable mechanical theories. The seat springs creaked and it smelled of old leather. That day, I was heading straight for the ocean. Lately, life seemed to be passing me by. Without me.

A need to break away from it all, to take a breather. Something simple, me, the sea. Basta.

After several kilometers and a few jolts of anguish as I heard the car's engine hiccup loudly, I arrived in the Landes, my promised land. Nature is astonishing here, on vast flat expanses, with trees pricked out there, in small gatherings as if inclined to remain grouped together come what may.

Further on, I skirt an unfathomable forest. I'm nearing my goal.

The sand appears on the sides of the road, invading. I park on a deserted esplanade not far from the dunes that block the view. There's an old disused petrol station, its colors faded by the sun and salt.

At this time of year, there's not a soul to be seen, it's like being in one of those German films with its grey tones and overly serious costumes.

 

I land on a vast beach, but already busy despite the season. Lots of people. Little kids squabble in front of their exasperated parents, a dog snorts beside me, barking at a harmless piece of wood. There's a lot of running and shouting, and the radios are blaring out tangled music.

I strain my ear to catch the sound of the surf.

Well, the ocean will wait. It's late and I'm hungry. I keep going and reach a few shacks that are dozing by the water. It's basic but quite exotic, with wooden walls decorated with colorful patterns and a few surfboards. I'm sure I'll find something to eat.

Later, I enter a bar, a survivor of the summer season. The interior is made entirely of bamboo, and the green spotlights create a surreal atmosphere in contrast to the candy-pink neon. Aloha. In one corner, I notice a guy a little different from the four kids who've come to whistle a mojito. He's sitting alone at a table with just a shaggy dog lurking at his feet.

These two are rivals for no style. Fifty-something, blue eyes and a few scraggly blond locks escaping from his battered cap. I offer him one of the cans of beer that already line his table and join him. I learn that he's lived in the Landes since he was a child, and has never left the Côte.

He wandered from north to south, never losing sight of the water. From small seasonal jobs to simple pleasures, he has never ceased to recharge his batteries in these wild lands.

The booze makes it poetic and very sympathetic, but I don't recognize the exhilarating aspect it evokes. Digging a little deeper, I learn that there's a treasure in the middle of the dunes. An unnamed beach, unknown to most, with only a few locals keeping it a secret.

"A gift from nature for those who know how to forget themselves and get off the beaten track," he said with a smile on his face.

But in the alcohol fumes, I'm no longer sure that any of this makes sense. I walk hesitantly home, crashing into the icy leatherette of the parents' reassuring Volvo.

Ripped out of my short night by the first rays of sunlight peeking through the fogged windows, the grandiloquent memories of this unlikely encounter resurface. 

I go to the place he has vaguely indicated. It's a no-man's-land. At the end, a forest. I move forward, looking for a sign. I look for a strange crossroads or a curious tree, something that lights a spark of interest in me. But nothing comes.

I continue my walk nonchalantly, my nose in the air. The tall Landes pines slowly rustle against each other. It's soothing, a kind of quietude comes over me.

I walk barefoot for a while to feel the cool sand between my toes, my sneakers tied around my neck. The ground is covered with pine needles that make me wince with every step. I can feel my surroundings, something I haven't been able to do for a long time. 

I realize that there is no longer a marked path, the ferns are denser and I have to clear the way several times with a branch.

I'm lost.

Anyway, I feel fine and carry on with no further goal in mind. Just the desire to live this moment and savour it.

Later, as I tie my shoelaces, I'll catch a glimpse of a flicker between the branches. I'll let myself be guided by this saving glow.

A sand dune to climb as a last gift of self, and the beach would appear. A spit of desert sand, the like of which had never been trodden by man. A gift from nature...

Gravel pit 43° 50' 08'' N - 1° 23' 47'' W