GRAVIERE

43° 50' 08'' N - 1° 23' 47'' W

I had recovered my father's old sedan, the one he never took out for fear of breaking down and having to embark on insurmountable mechanical theories. The seat springs creaked and it smelled of old leather. That day, I was driving straight to the ocean. Lately, life seemed to be slipping by. Without me.

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

After several miles and a few jumps of anxiety upon hearing the car's engine hiccup loudly, I arrive in the Landes, my promised land. The nature here is astonishing, on vast flat expanses, trees are dotted there, in small groups as if inclined to stay together no matter what.

Further on, I walk along an unfathomable forest. I'm approaching my goal.

Sand appears on the verges, encroaching. I park on a deserted esplanade not far from the dunes that block the view. There's an old, disused gas station, its colors faded by the sun and salt.

This season, there's not a soul around; it's like being in one of those German films with gray tones and overly serious costumes.

I arrive on a vast beach, but it's already crowded despite the season. Lots of people. Kids are squabbling in front of their exasperated parents, a dog comes to shake itself off next to me, barking at a harmless piece of wood. People are running, they're shouting, and the radios blare out jumbled music.

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

Well, the ocean will have to wait. It's late, I'm hungry. I continue and reach a few shacks dozing near the water. It's basic but quite exotic, the wooden walls, mottled with colorful patterns, are adorned with a few surfboards. I'll find something to eat there.

Later, I enter a bar, a survivor of the summer season. The interior is all bamboo, and the green spotlights create a surreal atmosphere in contrast to the candy pink Aloha neon . I notice in a corner a guy who's a little different from the four kids who came to drink a mojito. He's sitting alone at a table with just a strange, shaggy dog ​​crouching at his feet.

These two are rivals in no style . Fifty-something, blue eyes, and a few wild blond locks escaping from his threadbare cap. I offer him one of the cans of beer that already adorn his table and join him. I learn that he has lived in the Landes since he was young and has never left the coast.

He traveled from north to south without ever losing sight of water. From small seasonal jobs to simple joys, he never stopped recharging his batteries in these wild lands.

The booze makes it poetic and very likeable, 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. A beach without a name because it's unknown to most; only a few locals are said to keep the place a secret.

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

But in the alcohol fumes, I'm no longer sure any of this makes sense. I hesitantly step inside and crash into the glossy leatherette of my parents' reassuring Volvo.

Torn from my short night by the first rays of sunlight that pierce through the misted windows, the grandiloquent memories of this improbable encounter resurface.

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

I continue my stroll nonchalantly, my nose in the air. The very tall Landes pines slowly collide with a gentle rustling. It's soothing, a kind of tranquility invades me.

I walk barefoot for a while, feeling the cool sand between my toes, sneakers tied around my neck. The ground is covered with pine needles that make me wince with every step. I sense my surroundings, something I haven't felt in a long time.

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

I'm lost.

No matter, I feel good and continue without any more goals. Just the desire to live this moment and savor it.

Later, while retying my shoelaces, I will see a flicker between the branches. I will let myself be guided by this saving light.

A sand dune to climb as a final gift of self, and the beach would appear. A deserted strip of sand, as never before trodden by man. A gift from nature...

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