Mimizan - Lafitenia

Up and down in the pursuit of waves.

Although we embarked on this trip without much of a plan or itinerary one thing was always a foregone conclusion - surfing. Whilst converting the van or working to save money it was the vision of surfing the western coast of Europe that materialised most strongly in our minds. Our van was packed, designed even, with surfing in mind. Arriving now at the coast the items and ambitions we have carried with us this long are coming to the fore, jostling for prime position in our heads and our home.

For three weeks we dotted up and down the south-west coast of France, from the sand dunes of Mimizan to the rocky outcrops of the Basque and back again. We scoured the shore and familiarised ourselves with the beach-breaks in Hossegor, pointbreaks in Lafitenia and almost everything in-between. On some days the ocean seemed to understand our restless excitement and offered up enough swell to entertain us, more often than not though it played hard-to get, reminding us that wanting something enough doesn’t necessarily mean getting it.

Mimizan didn’t provide much in the way of surf but it is testament to the town that we stayed a week anyway, entertained enough by the sun and pleased to slow the pace to an almost standstill. We camped at the back of the beach, alternating north and south of the river mouth to avoid the suspicions of the police and zealous locals. It felt pleasing to be in a town for a stretch of time, still passing through but slower, with time. There was an end-of-season feel, the summer already seemingly come and gone. The doors to most establishments were only halfway ajar, reluctantly open at select times only. Despite, or perhaps because of this the atmosphere was pleasant. The sun still warm and high in the sky, enough people for company but not too many to feel crowded out.

Further south we stopped in Hossegor where the waves remained enigmatic, the endless surf shops and restless people gave the tell-tale signs that we were indeed in a world-class surf town even if the ocean did not. We lost hours gazing out across the atlantic into the void, half willing the surf to arrive and half content that it’s absence left us little choice but to daydream the hours away. On two occasions we watched wide-eyed and wondrous as dolphins silhouetted the sunset over the sea, thinking perhaps this was normal but knowing that it was anything but.

It wasn’t until we reached the southern-most tip of France that the waves finally rewarded our patience. One storm was followed by another and then another after that as the ocean stirred from it’s slump and made up for lost time. In the French Basque with the Pyrenees as our witness we surfed Cenitz, Lafitenia, Santa Barbe and Hendaye, ending each session with a rare assurance that tomorrow would bring more. We lucked-out at Lafitenia and got our fill before the crowds arrived, once they had we found a more relaxed atmosphere at Santa Barbe and Hendaye. This move represents another lesson learnt - to enjoy experiences on our own terms. We found it better to laugh and smile along the crest of a mediocre wave than battle the egos and the elements of a perfect point, realising for ourselves the truth that the best surfer in the line-up is the person having the most fun.

On previous trips our moods would rise and fall with the swells, here over the last few weeks we have remained far more level - keen to surf but satisfied to wait. Perhaps our time on the road has taught us a little patience; we have learnt that urgency is redundant when tomorrow is the same as today. We searched for three weeks but found what we were looking for in three days, grateful that the time out of the water had been as memorable as the time in. We had surfed a little but lived a lot.