Destination: Arcachon
ޝާއިޢުކޮށްފައިވެއެވެ: 18.09.2024
On Sunday morning, I woke up in my bunk. Despite the small hostel room, the beds were comfortably equipped: USB connection and power outlet, lamp and shelf space, along with a curtain that ensured privacy.
I hadn't set my alarm, and when I woke up, it was 12:30 PM. I had to scratch off my planned city tour for the morning that day. While having coffee in the hostel bar with a bookshelf, I got to know my travel companion for the next few days, the Dumont travel guide 'Bordeaux & Atlantic Coast' from 2002.
The decision was made for a Sunday alternative program with a visit to the Atlantic baths in Arcachon, an hour by train from Bordeaux. My travel guide kept me entertained, and I learned details about the special geological nature of the region, historical connections, and about the Desman, a shrew-mole from the Pyrenees.
Arcachon welcomed me with sunshine and endless sandy beaches. The town itself lay on a vast bay (Bassin). As a spa resort, it had invited France's upper class for a restorative stay since the end of the 19th century. Playful villas with turrets in decorative style were everywhere. Spa architecture, beachfront promenade, and chic boutiques continue to appeal to an older clientele today. A vacation with the grandparents. A stark contrast to the previous night of bar-hopping, which felt like a graduation trip.
At this point, the special elegance of French pensioners should be highlighted: styled hair, large sunglasses, and an upright posture. A lady took a seat next to me on a park bench and thanked me with the elegant words: 'Merci, Monsieur!' When I bid farewell with a simple 'Au revoir!', she replied just as elegantly: 'Au revoir, Monsieur!'
A contrast to the seriousness of German retired couples or the loud cheerfulness of older Brits and Americans.
Due to the advanced time, I only went for a walk, which I equally used to plan my second visit for Monday. The goal was to visit the famous Dune of Pilat. The largest moving dune in Europe.
Although I had the dimensions in mind (4 km long and over 100 m high, comparable to the highest skyscrapers in Berlin), a dune still remained in my imagination as nothing more than a sand pile. I was therefore all the more surprised when I saw the gigantic structure before me.
The currents of the Bay of Biscay created sandbanks along the coast and an endless dune landscape, which was tamed by the planting of pine forests so that the dunes wouldn't wander further inland. This did not happen at the Dune de Pilat, and you can witness how the sand buries trees and shrubs beneath it. A natural spectacle.
On the train ride back, it was again: 'Destination: Bordeaux San Jean'
I hadn't set my alarm, and when I woke up, it was 12:30 PM. I had to scratch off my planned city tour for the morning that day. While having coffee in the hostel bar with a bookshelf, I got to know my travel companion for the next few days, the Dumont travel guide 'Bordeaux & Atlantic Coast' from 2002.
The decision was made for a Sunday alternative program with a visit to the Atlantic baths in Arcachon, an hour by train from Bordeaux. My travel guide kept me entertained, and I learned details about the special geological nature of the region, historical connections, and about the Desman, a shrew-mole from the Pyrenees.
Arcachon welcomed me with sunshine and endless sandy beaches. The town itself lay on a vast bay (Bassin). As a spa resort, it had invited France's upper class for a restorative stay since the end of the 19th century. Playful villas with turrets in decorative style were everywhere. Spa architecture, beachfront promenade, and chic boutiques continue to appeal to an older clientele today. A vacation with the grandparents. A stark contrast to the previous night of bar-hopping, which felt like a graduation trip.
At this point, the special elegance of French pensioners should be highlighted: styled hair, large sunglasses, and an upright posture. A lady took a seat next to me on a park bench and thanked me with the elegant words: 'Merci, Monsieur!' When I bid farewell with a simple 'Au revoir!', she replied just as elegantly: 'Au revoir, Monsieur!'
A contrast to the seriousness of German retired couples or the loud cheerfulness of older Brits and Americans.
Due to the advanced time, I only went for a walk, which I equally used to plan my second visit for Monday. The goal was to visit the famous Dune of Pilat. The largest moving dune in Europe.
Although I had the dimensions in mind (4 km long and over 100 m high, comparable to the highest skyscrapers in Berlin), a dune still remained in my imagination as nothing more than a sand pile. I was therefore all the more surprised when I saw the gigantic structure before me.
The currents of the Bay of Biscay created sandbanks along the coast and an endless dune landscape, which was tamed by the planting of pine forests so that the dunes wouldn't wander further inland. This did not happen at the Dune de Pilat, and you can witness how the sand buries trees and shrubs beneath it. A natural spectacle.
On the train ride back, it was again: 'Destination: Bordeaux San Jean'
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