Chateau’s, Cheese, and Summer Swells

As a foreigner, heading out for a surf dressed in what can be passed-off as national costume probably isn’t the smartest thing to do. Especially when trying to blend in during a crowded, pumping, French summer swell.
But alas, Kassia Meador had already agreed when this brilliant photojournalist came up with the harebrained scheme. “Kass, you know what’d be great? Going for a surf in a beret and any other French iconic idioms we can think of!” I spouted after a couple of glasses of red. And for some still unclear reason Kassia enthusiastically obliged. By the time she hit the water we’d expanded on the beret concept and had veered to traditional south western France Basque dress; a long-sleeved white shirt, bright red beret and had thrown in a fresh baguette just to up the ante. Oh, and just for that special touch I drew a moustache on her as well.  
It didn’t help that our friends and guides, top French longboarders Romain Maurin and Damien Castera, took one look at Kass after the pseudo native transformation and simply shook their heads, laughingly saying, “We don’t know you” before legging it to go surf up the other end of the beach.
Undeterred, Kass paddled out through gaping crowds and pulled off a couple of stylish noserides before the baguette disintegrated. Sure, our wine and cheese suffered that night but it was a worthy sacrifice nonetheless.

A group of female professional surfers tends to attract a crowd just by sheer nature. A group of said pros in a flash new Peugeot with Roxy emblazoned across all surfaces in fluoro pink lettering, along with a stack of boards on top, can create accidents.
French surfer boys on scooters seemed to be stuck to the Peugeot like remora fish to a shark. Until thankfully we hit the freeways and left them in our wake.
Not that most of the occupants were particularly perturbed by the attention. Kassia Meador and Ashley Lloyd from California, Hawaiian-turned-Californian Janna Irons, Aussie Deanne Ashmore, along with Candice O’Donnell from Pomgolia had all gathered to find summer swell (at least that’s what they said – the scooter pursuiters had nothing to with it all . . . promise, cross their bikini collection and hope to die) in the south west of France.
They chased waves from near the Spanish boarder to Cote des Basques and up to the famed sandbanks around Hossegor.
Now, everyone knows that autumn and winter are the best times for consistent swell throughout Europe. But what a lot of people seem to miss is the fact that the Atlantic can have bouts of summer activity. Clean swell and warm water are accompanied by favorable winds and, being a fair way north of the equator the sun doesn’t set until almost 10:30 p.m. Sixteen-and-a-half hours of daylight means you can fit in numerous limb-weakening surf sessions. Oh, and after surfing all day there are summer parties! Restaurants don’t get busy ‘til 10:30 p.m., bars around 11:30 p.m. and nightclubs – well, you see revellers staggering out when heading for the morning surf. “The French are on a whole different time schedule than the rest of the world,” Ashmore said. “Nobody seems to wake up until after 11 a.m., even in town.  Most arrive at the beach around 3 p.m. with plenty of bats, balls, and floaties to amuse themselves with until the sun’s gone, and dinner is served anytime after dark.  I think we switched to French time by the end of our stay. Mmm  . . . sleeping in!”

Tides on this coast are radical, up to 14 feet, so you have to keep an eagle eye on the banks that can go from mush to magic in the space of an hour. In summer it’s mostly offshore in the morning with light onshores in the afternoon - so it’s a good idea to find a beach protected by a rock-wall or jetty.
The girls based themselves at Anglet with the swell magnet spot, Cavaliers, a stone’s throw away. And of course, a couple of jetties out front definitely helped as motivators for the late sessions. But, like any good surf travellers they weren’t intent on staying in one spot.
About 10 clicks north of the Spanish border is one of the few points on this stretch, Lafitenia. The break is surrounded by summer campsites populated by pasty, white German backpackers and Parisians who look ill- prepared for the ocean, and probably would have felt more at home sipping coffee in a cool, dark, bohemian restaurant. But, flotsam in the shallows aside, this is a great surf spot. Littered with boils and whirlpools on takeoff, the wave lines up beautifully on the inside, offering great noseride sections, and due to the fact that the tidal flux can be virtually flat on the high tide and offer perfect peelers on the low. Timing is everything, and thanks to the local surfers bible (re: tide chart) the girls scored. Not big, but super fun. “We were the locals’ worst nightmare,” Irons said, laughing. “First, we arrived in a giant minivan stacked with eight-to-10 surfboards, five girls and a photographer. Even I hate people like us. Paddling out, I smiled tentatively at one of the local surfers, knowing all too well that the French chatter likely centred on their displeasure with our presence. The man smiled back though and said in a thick French accent, “You girls okay for today, but don’t make habit.” Frankly, the girls ripped and showed up everyone in the water.
As far as cosmopolitan surfing goes, Biarritz rules. You’re surrounded by drool-inducing ice creameries, patisseries and panini stands along with overpriced surf shops and stunning architecture. Plus, it’s the birthplace of French surfing. The main surf beach in town, the Cote des Basques, has played host to numerous contests and is a must see on any travelling surfer’s list. The waves themselves are often written off as soft and boring compared with what else this coast has to offer, but this belies the fact that they’re just plain fun! No, you generally won’t get spat out of a barrel here or get the wits scared out of you. It’s just a mellow wave the whole family can enjoy. And sitting in the water looking up at the chateau on the rock is quite an experience. It’s as iconic as the church at Mundaka, the Norfolk Pines at Manly, or the pier at Huntington. Biarritz is the perfect mix of physical beauty, fun waves, and a unique surf-friendly atmosphere. “Plus enough panini, crepe, and gelato businesses to make even the most active athletes gain a pound or two,” Irons said.
“The castle and terraced hillsides in Biarritz create a beautiful backdrop for this ideal longboard beachbreak. Though I must say, the terraces are much less lovely when you're lugging a massive longboard up them,” Irons said, wincing at the memory. “Plus there are enough panini, crepe, and gelato businesses to make even the most active athletes gain a pound or two.”

Everything in town is super-expensive, but it’s definitely worth a day or two to soak up the fantastic atmosphere. That is, until you get into a car. Narrow roads through town combined with summer traffic can be nothing short of a nightmare. Best to get onto the expressway north and other surf spots will quickly come within striking distance. It’s better than being stuck in traffic on the narrow coast road and having them within screaming and swearing distance . . . metaphorically so.   
Hossegor (pronounced Os-e-gorrrrrrrrrrre – like you’re trying to cough up something in the unexplored regions of your throat) is a world-renowned beach break and the sandbanks shift with every swell and storm. It’s the combination of a steep beach and an ocean trench that make this place work so well. It was the haunt of Tommy Curren for years and Aussies Gary Elkerton and Robbie Page can be seen pulling in here on macking winter swells.
The surfing area, loosely regarded as Hossegor, stretches for approximately 10 kilometres from Capbreton in the south to Seignosse in the north. There’s easy access to most of these beaches with shopping mall size carparks. Of course, banks close to the towns are super crowded, but there are generally enough spots along this stretch to accommodate plenty of surfers. If you want to escape the masses, simply head further north where the numbers of beachgoers and surfers thin out and the beachside pine forests grow thicker. Ashmore said, “Probably the best surf we had was at L'Estagnot, a beach north of Hossegor.  Another perfect day with blue skies, no wind, and A-frame peaks as far as the eye could see.  Losing your board here meant swimming through the designated nudist area of the beach. And then having your board handed back to you by a courteous soul in their birthday suit who'd then want a chat on retrieval. It was so hard to keep a straight face!.”
Oceanfront Hossegor, known as Front De Mer, and Capbreton are loaded with bars and clubs and are jam packed in the evenings. But beware; a couple of nights on the town here can cause credit card meltdowns. “It’s a fun surf town,” O’Donnell said, “with enough going on to keep everyone entertained. This is the place to come after a hard day’s surf when all you want is a cold beer and a good night out. It’s got a real youthful, energetic feel to it.” She’s 19.
The southwest of France is full of world-class waves. And what this trip illustrates is that you don’t have to freeze your bits off, endure ice cream headaches, or sit through driving winter rains to experience the magic of the place. You certainly don’t have to get battered by double overhead winter waves at Hossegor to have a memorable experience. Sure, summer crowds can be a bit of a hassle, but for a chance to sample foreign culture, and to chow down on something simple such as good cheese and a baguette, a pannini (no meat pies or lamingtons on the menus here), or go upmarket with haute cuisine (and if you’re fond of a few glasses of vino, you’ll weep - good wine is available at the supermarkets, shelves of it, and is ridiculously cheap) it can’t be surpassed. Kicking back in the summer evenings at a small restaurant, or even in an old Kombi, overlooking the beach and setting sun is pure magic. It’s a perfect way to top off a summer sesh’, smack in the French cradle of style, sophistication, and surf. Our heroines felt very comfortable in that environment.
But I probably wouldn’t recommend dressing up in a red beret and playing running of the French summer surfers. That is unless you smile a lot, surf with phenomenal talent . . . and look good in a bikini.




Merci Boucoup.

A million thanks to Marituex at Roxy for the loan of the car. Romain Maurin and Damien ‘the pirate’ Castera for their local knowledge, the Maurin family for their hospitality, and one French photographer who started screaming “you are sheeeeeeeeeet!” at me in a carpark, but that’s a whole other story . . .


French Facts.

Surfing was introduced to France by Hollywood screenwriter Peter Viertel in 1956 when he came to Biarritz for the filming of Hemingways’ The Sun Also Rises. The story goes that he spotted some likely looking waves when flying in, and sent back to California for his Velzy-Jacobs pig model. He rode the board at Biarritz, lent it to some local body-surfers and voila! Surfing was born.

The country’s first major surf contest, the French Invitational Open, was held in 1968 and won by Australian Wayne Lynch.

The French wine industry dates back to around 600BC.

The first King of France was named Charles the Bald.

Liberty, fraternity, and equality were first enshrined in the ideals of the French revolution in 1789. The uprising by the populace culminated in the storming of the Parisian prison, the Bastille. Bastille Day is an annual celebration, akin to Australia Day or the Fourth of July in the U.S.

French presidents are elected for seven-year terms.
Pigs had to live by human laws in medieval France, where they were allowed to roam the streets. One was hanged in 1394, in Normandy, for injuring a child. A sow and her six piglets were accused of a similar crime in 1547. The sow was executed, but her family was spared because of what the judge said was their youth.