A buzzy town prom, plates of moules with chilled rosé and cycle rides to sandy beaches on Cap Ferret add up to happy holidays on the Atlantic coastThe Bay of Arcachon, on the south-west coast of France, is a happy place. It must be, because I’ve been visiting it with my family nearly every year for the past 15 years. We usually rent a small apartment in Arcachon town for four or five days, but such is the draw that we have been known to make a two-hour drive just to spend the day there when we’ve been in that part of the world. Everything about it speaks of summer joy: the promenade thrumming with cyclists and strollers; the parade of bistros serving moules, oysters and buckets of chilled rosé; families playing beach tennis on the sands; and a bay brimming with pleasure boats and ferries. It’s like a scene from a Raoul Dufy painting.The first day begins at Halle Baltard, the town market, where we drink coffee with brioche and croissants, then head to the bike rental shop, and always the same one (Dingo Vélos), because you don’t need a car in this largely flat landscape. Next, we buy ferry tickets at the little beach cabins on Thiers jetty to take the ferry over the bay to Cap Ferret. The wait in the queue on the jetty is more Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday than huff and puff, the air thick with sunscreen and anticipation. Children wear inflatables around their waists and rest crab nets on their shoulders, parents sport sunnies and straw hats and carry overloaded picnic bags and rugs. There’s a babble of chatter as the ferry crew load bikes on the roof and passengers scramble for outside seats. Continue reading…
